Gumnut's Thunderbirds Ficlet Collection
by Gumnut
Summary: A collection of ficlets not long enough to warrant their own story space. Some may contain spoilers for any season. Includes answers to challenges and the occasional crackfic. Any ship noted at top of fic, but mostly gen.
1. I just need your Kiss

The inspiration:

Music video – Tom Jones and Art Of Noise – Kiss – YouTube Look it up :D

Response by Soniabigcheese.

He didn't hear the door opening - the stereo was on LOUD and he was busy gyrating and wiggling his butt to this classic.

He was also clad in just a towel draped around his narrow waist, and he was holding a mop and kissing on cue to the lyrics of the song.

 _This is so cool_ \- Alan sniggered as he held the video camera and zoomed in on his brother.

That's when Gordon whipped around … and froze. Not only was Alan there, there was also a captive audience and they all bore the same 'gotcha' expressions on their faces.

They'd finally gotten revenge on their elusive prankster brother.

-o-o-o-

My response.

 _Oh, god,_ _Soniabigcheese_ _gave me permission, I really hope she doesn't regret it._

 _ **Warning: total crackfic! I may have broken a character or two. I recommend you read it while listening to the music :D**_

It had been a shit birthday.

One of those days, but in triplicate. Everything he had planned had fallen on its face. The only thing that had gone well was that none of his brothers had been injured in today's rescue.

Unfortunately, Gordon hadn't been as lucky.

Sure, it was only a sprained ankle, but it killed off his swimming and pretty much everything else.

At the moment he was sitting in the comms room, foot up, exactly where Virgil had left him. And yes, that, while not embarrassing, wasn't exactly great for his manly ego, being carried around by his big brother.

So, his pout was fully deployed.

And the sun was setting. So much for his birthday.

And all on his own.

Where the hell was everyone?

As if to answer his question, a beat started thudding through the room. It took him a second to recognise it.

Oh, god. Hadn't they given up on that yet? As if they hadn't stirred him enough already.

A sigh.

 _You don't have to be beautiful…_

But then Alan climbed up the stairs from the kitchen.

And he was dancing. Butt wiggling rather excessively. He spun on the spot, shoulders moving to the beat. Huh? Little Bro could actually hold a beat.

Gordon's eyes nearly fell out as Scott's head appeared above the landing, equally bopping.

Alan waltzed into the room and his eldest brother followed body moving to the rhythm. Scott spun and with a smirk, deliberately smacked his own butt in tune to Tom Jones' Kiss.

Gordon nearly choked.

Then he did, as a mop of red hair appeared shimmying up the stairs. The expression on John's face just screamed 'What the hell am I doing?' Obviously coerced by the rest of the band. But the moment he set eyes on Gordon a silly grin lit up his face and he followed Scott and Alan onto the main floor all of them bopping along, the song on loop.

And then Tom Jones in the form of his second eldest brother literally leapt up the stairs, well at home in the music, dressed all in black and so obviously the instigator of these shenanigans. He was mouthing the words and wiggling his eyebrows…amongst other body parts.

Gordon couldn't help it, he cracked up laughing.

For a verse or two he then had all four of his brothers lined up dancing in front of him, apparently under Virgil's direction for spins and butt slapping. John ended up going in the opposite direction at least once and Alan fell over at least twice.

Gordon didn't care in the slightest, he couldn't stop laughing.

 _Think I better dance now…_

And the brothers stepped aside, still dancing on the spot, to usher Kayo into the room. She was rolling her eyes, but escaped dancing other than a little wiggle because she was carrying a tray of cupcakes. Brains followed with a plate of fruit, looking thoroughly embarrassed, yet managing to bop up and down anyway. The beat was infectious.

And then Grandma bopped into the room. Nothing held back Grandma except for the ginormous chocolate cake in her arms. Yes, she spun on the spot, cake and all and wiggled her butt at him.

Gordon fell off his chair.

To finish off MAX whirred up the stairs zig-zagging to the beat.

As his Grandmother reached the table at the centre of the room, the holographic interface clicked on and a decidedly feminine figure, silhouetted, started dancing rather evocatively, her only identification a series of lights that swirled up from the floor and flew around her body in a chain, corkscrewing around her lithe form.

Gordon stared for a moment before glancing at John.

John's eyes were so wide he looked like he might bust something.

But the music continued, and now all the food was on the table, Grandma was really letting loose. Brains was doing a lame impression of the robot dance, and Kayo…she was smiling down at him and offering him a hand up.

His four brothers were still maintaining their jiggle, once again back in their line and were obviously coming in for their finale. And as the last chorus broke he got the pleasure of seeing all four brothers shimmy into a crouch before jumping up, spinning around, slapping their own butts, and sliding to their knees, scarily in time to smacked lips at him in unison as the song finally ended.

In the sudden silence, several stupid grins broke out.

"Happy Birthday, Gordon!"

"Oh, god, YES!"

-o-o-o-


	2. A Hole in the Desk

"I bet Virgil could do it."

"Yeah, right. And damage those precious hands of his?"

"He could do it."

"Do what?"

Red flannel entered the comms room and the two youngest brothers jumped.

"Nothing." Alan never really was good at prevaricating.

And Virgil had weaponised eyebrows that could have you admitting to being on the green knoll.

"Dare ya, Virg." Gordon was never afraid to grab the elephant in the room by the throat.

Experienced suspicion was the next expression to pass over his brother's face. "To do what?"

"Crack a nut…with your fist."

"And why exactly would I want to do that?"

"Because I said you could do it, and Alan reckons you'd be too scared."

Those eyeball beams raked over his youngest brother. "Too scared?"

Alan spread his arms. "Hey, I only had your best interests at heart, bro. Gotta look after those pianist hands after all."

Those pianist hands flexed a moment. And, yeah, damn his brother had big hands.

"What's the penalty?"

"Oh, denial of the hidden rations." Alan was snickering.

An eyebrow arched. "Survival on Grandma's cooking. That's cruel."

Gordon held up a hand. "Hey, we could make this a positive experience. Winner gets to choose pizza flavours next time AND gets it delivered to the island." The only way that was happening was if one of the other brothers flew out to get it.

Virgil's eyes darted back and forth between them as if trying to work out the catch. "Loser delivers pizza?"

"Yep, in Tracy Two."

Another musing moment. "Okay, give it here." Virgil held out a hand. Gordon made a pecan nut appear.

His brother examined it.

"What, do you think it might be fake or something?"

Brown eyes looked up at him as if he had said something stupid. "Well, yeah, this is Gordon Tracy we're talking about."

"I'm offended."

Alan smirked. "I'd be proud if I were you."

Virgil shot a glare at the youngest, but quickly returned to examining the nut. "Looks like a nut."

"It is a an honest to goodness, everyday pecan nut. Geesh."

"Okay." Virgil tossed it in the air a moment, catching it in one hand. "Let's do this."

Scanning the room, his eyes landed on their father's desk. "Over here."

Gordon's eyes widened. "Really, you want to do it on Dad's desk?"

"Sure, why not?" And Virgil was eyeing him again. "Unless there is something you're not telling me."

Gordon held up his hands. "Hey, honest to god, Virg. All above board."

"Hmm."

He took a seat at the desk an placed the nut down. Eyeing it a moment longer as if assessing tactics, he then flexed his shoulders, and his fist came down.

And the nut disappeared.

Through the top of the desk.

"Shit!" Apparently only Gordon had access to his voice.

There was now a perfectly nut shaped hole in the middle of their father's desk.

"Oh." Virgil found his voice. "Um." He stuck a finger in the hole. It had only gone through one layer of thin wood, not the entire table top. "Shit is right." The nut had disappeared inside a hollow beneath the surface.

Scott was going to kill them.

Virgil frowned. "You know, I could have sworn this was solid oak." He poked the hole with his finger, bent down and looked into the footwell, yanked out a drawer, the engineer obviously attempting to examine it from all angles.

Gordon was too busy working out excuses and listening to see if Scott had come back from his run yet.

And then Virgil's questing fingers hit something, and a secret panel slid out of the desk.

The nut rolled around in the tiny little hidden drawer amongst papers, on top of which sat an envelope with the words 'Scott Tracy' scrawled in their father's distinctive hand.

"Shit."

And this time Virgil said it with quiet awe.

-o-o-o-


	3. Knitting

Gordon looked up. "What are you doing, Virgil?"

"I'm knitting a reindeer."

His brother blinked and held up two fingers. "Two things...a reindeer...and you knit?"

Virgil frowned. "Of course, I knit. Mom taught me and I do it every year."

"Knit reindeers?"

"No, knit. Are you blind? Who do you think knitted the jumper you're wearing?"

Gordon stared down in vague horror at the palm trees knitted into his Christmas sweater. "You did this?"

"Years ago. Who did you think made it?"

"Grandma?"

Virgil glared at his brother. "Way to go to fall for the stereotype, Gordo. Just because she is a grandmother, doesn't mean she knits, and just why do you think me knitting is so out of character?"

"Well, look at you. Big, buff and tough?"

Another glare. "So that precludes me from working with yarn, how?"

"Um..." And yes, that out-of-his-depth-oh-shit-Virgil-is-going-to-kill-me expression on Gordon's face was quite satisfying.

"Exactly." Virgil stitched a few more stitches. "You definitely need to up your observation skills. I have been doing this every Christmas since before Mom died."

It had become a tradition. Partly to connect himself to his Mom, partly because he just enjoyed it. He only did it in the three months leading up to Christmas. Traditionally this was because in the northern hemisphere it was leading into winter and knitting was most definitely a winter sport. Here on the island, it was warm year round, so no matter when he did it, it would still be out of season. But he did it anyway.

Of course, due to that same warmth, there was little need for Christmas sweaters, so there were less of them, but recently he had ventured into knitting little animals. He had a stash of them on Thunderbird Two and deployed them at need should he be rescuing children, or even adults who needed that extra little security.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what you're doing most of the time? I'm as busy as anyone here."

Virgil stared at him. "Why are you wearing that sweater anyway? It is nearly ninety degrees outside."

Gordon shrugged. "I was cold."

He narrowed his eyes at his brother, assessing him. "Are you sick?"

"No."

Virgil put down his needles and stood up, walking slowly across the comms room to where his brother was sitting. Gordon made to get up, but Virgil held up his hand. "Sit." And yes, there was guilt in his little brother's eyes.

He reached out to touch his forehead and, sure enough, Gordon was much hotter than the temperature outside.

"How long?"

"This morning?" And yes, he was shivering. "C'mon, Virg, it's Christmas Eve. Pen's going to be here."

"I'm sure she would not want to come here to collect a disease." He gently wrapped a hand around his brother's arm. "C'mon, let's go get you checked out."

"Aww, Virg, please." But he dragged himself up, obviously capitulating to the inevitable. "Damn, I was so looking forward to tonight."

"There will be other nights, Gordon, I promise." He led his brother from the room, slumped shoulders and all. By the time they made it to the infirmary, Gordon's expression was pitiful.

Virgil sighed. "It is probably only a cold, rest up and it will get better in a few days."

"And there goes Christmas." He flopped on the bed dramatically, completely opposite to his usually sprite and happy self. "I had plans, Virg. There were going to be candles and presents and...aw, damnit." And that was a serious pout.

"Lie down and let me take a look at you."

The pout went horizontal.

"Would you like a reindeer?"

A pair of red-brown eyes glared at him.

Virgil smiled, walked over to the infirmary cupboard and dug out a little Rudolph. "Here you go. And if you behave, I'll knit one up for Penelope as well."

The frown on Gordon's face was comical. "You suck." But he took the reindeer anyway, rolled onto his side, still shivering, and hugged the little toy to him.

Virgil's smile widened and he mentally added a little pink nosed reindeer to his list.

-o-o-o-


	4. Puppy Pile

_This one is for ak47stylegirl who asked for a group hug. Well, I didn't quite deliver a hug exactly….what I came up with, well, I hope you enjoy it anyway :D_

 _Warning for a little toilet humour, and just a touch of Virgil/Kayo cos I couldn't resist :D_

"Who's stupid idea was this anyway?"

"Whose is it usually?"

"Gordon's!" Two, possibly three voices answered in unison, the third one cut off by a yelp.

"Hey! I wasn't the one who lost the bet."

"No, that was Scott's fault. Ow, get off my fingers!"

"Sorry!"

She winced. That had to hurt, Virgil was heavy. "Guys, settle down."

"I would, but Alan has his butt in my face." There was a sudden loud drawn out putter. "Oh my god, you didn't!"

Her lips twisted.

"Oh, you did! My god, Alan, in my face! You shit! You reek!" And Gordon was gagging.

She couldn't help but notice the smirk on Scott's face. In echo of years long gone, "Now, Alan, what do you say?"

Dutifully her littlest brother piped up, "Pardon me."

"You are going down, bro. So down, you won't see daylight for a week."

"Can we get on with this please?" John was being extremely tolerant, particularly since he was currently standing with his legs crossed and one arm stretched across Virgil's back. Somehow he managed to emanate poise no matter his pose. Likely all those gymnastics in zero gravity.

"I would but I don't believe Scott is quite in position yet."

Her eldest brother frowned. "What do you mean? This is right, isn't it?"

"No, Scott, think a little more about Virgil."

"What? Oh, really? But that's..."

She arched an eyebrow and he groaned. "Alan move your head."

"Sorry, Scott, no can do, currently attached to my neck, which is attached to my body, yada yada. You're gonna have to go around."

"How the hell am I going to reach that?"

"Work it out. You're the one who got us into this mess."

"Alan, we all agreed, we're all to blame." Trust Virgil to even the playing field.

"You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend."

"That has nothing to with it." But he did look up at her and smirk.

She grinned back.

"Okay, that's it, I think Virgil rigged it." Gordon somehow managed to glare upside down.

"I did no such thing."

"Guys!" And yes, John was getting testy. Time to move on.

She spun the spinner and waited for it to stop. "Okay, left hand green."

"You're kidding?!" Scott.

"Definitely Virgil, never played so much green in my life. Alan, get off my foot!" Gordon.

"I would if Scott would stop trying to...hey! That's not going to fit no matter how hard you try, big boy."

Kayo blinked.

"Virgil, watch what you're touching."

"Yah, uh, sorry, John."

She saw it coming, it was like a train wreck in slow motion. Virgil withdrew his arm and threw off his balance. He wobbled, attempted to save himself, but the rules of the game denied his instinct and he hesitated.

And toppled.

Taking all four of his brothers with him.

A puppy pile of Tracy limbs all over the floor, complete with squawks and grumblings to match. She couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing.

Gordon surfaced first, shoving far too many kilos of artistic brother off his legs. "Goddamnit, Virgil! You so rigged this. Tracy Twister, my ass. I'm putting glitter in your shampoo, I'm hanging your underwear from the flagpole and chucking your pillow in the pool."

But Virgil didn't seem to care. He was on his back laughing his head off.

His four brothers stared at him.

She bit her lip, counting it down.

Scott cracked up first, followed by Alan, John grinned like a maniac and finally Gordon, sitting cross legged on the floor, arms equally crossed over his chest, let his glare fold into a smile, then a smirk, and a giggling laugh.

Smiling, she looked over above her laughing brothers, toward the doorway. Grandma winked from the shadows.

And Kayo grinned even more.

It may have been rigged, but it was worth it.

-o-o-o-


	5. Deep

_I'm tired tonight and was dozing lightly on the couch. Eventually I had to get up to kiss the girls goodnight. As I sat up a single scene flashed into my head. I don't know where it came from or what it means, but I wrote it down anyway. I hope you enjoy whatever it is._

He held his breath as long as he possibly could, but eventually he had to shoot for the surface, strong arms climbing up the water column, shoulders aching and lungs straining. Busting into the air, Virgil gulped in enough oxygen to stabilise his system, the chill of the surface breeze goosepimpling his arms.

He dipped and rose with the slight swell for a moment, bare legs kicking, the bright sunlight driving him to squint. There was water in his ears.

A few strong breaths and he dove once more. He was naked with the exception of his tight swim trunks, IR emblazoned on his hip, and he could feel it as he dove deeper, the cold of the ocean seeping into his bones.

He returned to Gordon, floating in the flickering turquoise sunlight. His brother lay drifting, all ten tentacles lax, his chromatophores flickering in the remains of distress, ink still drifting lazily in the distance.

Virgil reached out and gently touched his soft mantle. Under his fingers his brother's skin activated, colour and pattern dancing in reaction to their connection. Cells flashed deep contrasts, spots merging to plains of saturation only to retreat to match the shape of Virgil's hand.

As his hand moved, his print was left behind.

Gordon's fine stabilising fins rippled in the sequence to move him just slightly, bringing his great eye to gaze upon the second Thunderbird. The glassy iris flickered with familiar amber.

Virgil hung there as long as he possibly could, but eventually he, again, had to climb to the surface leaving his brother behind.

Another desperate gasp of oxygen, his hair in his eyes.

The sun glared at him and he dove again.

And would keep doing so as long as he had to.

-o-o-o-


	6. Excerpt from Volcano

The fact that no one came running from the building as he landed Thunderbird Two in their carpark was proof that the volcano had been preparing to erupt for some time. Obviously, the ground shaking and rumbling around here was nothing new. The fact that no one but a single scientist had noticed was the odd thing.

Virgil lowered himself through the hatch and strode out onto the icy ground. Walking through the front door, he frowned as his presence was still barely noticed. It was rare that International Rescue wasn't pounced on the moment they made an appearance anywhere. Mostly for two reasons. The first being that there was usually an emergency in progress and most people at such a scene were in desperate need of saving anyway. The second reason was celebrity. They were the rich and famous whether they were Tracy brothers or IR operatives, they were powerful to know and known the world over.

Locating the desk, he approached reception only to find the attendant slumped in his chair snoring. Really? Even through landing TB2? His girl was anything but quiet. The ground shook when she made contact. He knew this because apparently TB1 jumped every time he parked beside her. Scott was good at smart assed remarks.

Not seeing anyone else who might want to assist him, Virgil picked up the bell and shook it gently.

The tinkling sound activated the concierge like a remote control. He startled out of sleep and without apology leapt into his spiel of "How may I assist you?"

"Hi, I'm from International Rescue." He put the bell down and arched an eyebrow at the man as his expression grew skeptical.

"And I'm Jeff Tracy."

The IR operative processed that, cleared his throat and pointed in the direction of his 'bird, parked out front.

The man's expression fell with a satisfying, "Oh my."

Virgil straightened. "Your volcano, Mount Hromundartdinhurmindur," and yes, he nearly broke his throat saying it, "is about to erupt. We need to evacuate your hotel."

Surprise turned to derision almost immediately. "Have you been speaking to Doctor Questa? He is a madman. Has been attempting to scare us with his foretelling of doom for years." The man waved a negligent hand in the air. "I would not worry."

There was always one. Why did there always have to be one?

"Mr, uh, Tracy, is it? Doctor Questa's conclusions have been verified." As if to emphasize the point, the ground shook a little just for effect. "In under a half an hour, this hotel, if not razed to the ground by a lava flow, will at the very least be subject to ballistic projectiles and the possibility of pyroclastic flows. You need to evacuate now."

"And who are you to declare such a thing?"

Virgil took a step closer and pinned the man with his eyes. "I am Virgil Tracy, the son of the man you so blatantly mocked." Okay, there was some satisfaction in the sudden lack of blood in the man's already pale face, but there was no time. He hit his comms, not taking his eyes off the concierge. "John, could you please give me access to this hotel's communication system? Building wide broadcast." He kept his expression calm, voice determined. At John's affirmative, he addressed the hotel at large. "This is International Rescue. Please remain calm. This is an order to evacuate the building. Please exit in an orderly manner and gather at the designated meeting points. This is not a drill."

John followed it up with a translation into the local dialect and activated the fire alarm.

Virgil still held the concierge with his eyes. The man's expression was now stricken as all the hotel guests and staff, muttering, made their way to the exit doors. Several fire wardens approached the desk, eyed the two men and immediately turned to Virgil and his uniform.

With no parting expression at all, Virgil turned away and addressed the head warden, explaining the pending eruption and the need to evacuate. Fortunately the woman was smarter than her co-worker and with wide eyes moved immediately.

"I need numbers on how many people we have to move."

Numbers were handed to him. Damn, at least two trips to the nearest town. Fortunately the hotel was the only establishment in the blast radius.

Addressing the remaining wardens and the concierge, "Thunderbird Two will take half the evacuees at a time. We will move as fast as possible. Please make sure all are accounted for. I will meet you and the first group out the front." Turning away, he strode back towards the doors, accessing his remote, enabling TB2 to lower her now empty module in preparation to board evacuees. A signal from John confirmed his destination and facilities for the displaced people.

A single glance at the concierge as he left the building.

Asshole.

-o-o-o-


	7. Sound came first

Sound came first.

Water. Waves.

Seabirds.

Crackling.

Wind. There was a little wind. It was tangling in his hair.

There was sand on his face. Grit in his mouth.

Pain in his head.

He was lying on his stomach, material between him and the cold sand. Something was digging into his side.

Opening his eyes, he had to blink grains off his eyelashes.

Sand was everywhere.

He spat it out of his mouth and his head spun.

A groan.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced them open, forced his brain to start working.

Something was burning. The smell of smoke registered and his body reacted, his head coming up, attempting to work out where he was and what the hell had happened.

Pain.

A gloved hand reached for his head. "Augh."

"Virgil!"

Wha-?

"VIRGIL, are you there?"

Rolling over, his eyes were blinded by the sun and his gut twisted in pain. Aah!

Smoke drifted past.

What?

"VIRGIL, FOR GOD'S SAKE, ANSWER ME!"

A blink. Scott?

He cleared his throat. Comms. Answer comms. A finger in the right place and pain shot up his side. What the hell? He tried to say his brother's name, but it came out as a gasp.

"Virgil? You there?"

"S-Scott."

"Oh, thank god."

"Scott?" Scott. Scott. Scott. Scott.

Scott had answers.

"Status?"

Status? "D-don't know." He tried to sit up and regretted it immediately. He cried out and tried to roll into a ball, but movement, any movement...his thoughts were reduced to a whimper.

"Virgil! Lie still. I'm coming. You're injured."

Injured?

In the distance he could just hear the roar of Thunderbird One's engines. Relief let his body fall slack back against the sand. Scott. Scott would save him.

Something was burning. More smoke drifted across the blue, blue sky.

He turned his head to the left and beyond the sand and piles of dried seaweed, a giant mass of green metal was burning.

Oh god, no.

He couldn't see all of her, but as TB1 roared into the sky above, Virgil couldn't help but stare at the remains of his beautiful bird, half buried in the beach beside him. Waves crashed against her hull.

Something exploded and a plume of smoke tore into the sky.

No.

God, no.

No!

The ground rumbled and his body cried out at even that small movement.

No.

"Virgil? You with me?"

No.

"Virgil?"

No.

And then Scott was there.

Scott was there.

And he could let go.

-o-o-o-


	8. Just a Little Action Scene

_I'm blaming the fact that I just watched 'Into the Spiderverse' for the first time._

-o-o-o-

The child was wriggling and god he wished he would hold still.

The metal beneath Scott's feet vibrated as another explosion ripped through the chemical plant behind him. He had no doubt it wouldn't be long before the massive canister he was standing on became an equally massive explosion.

"Scott, are you planning on moving your ass anytime soon? I have only so much foam available in Two's tanks and they are getting low. Get out, the whole place is going to blow."

His brother had missed coffee o'clock this morning and was appropriately moody. "Doing my best, Virgil." If this kid hadn't climbed all the way up here, it wouldn't be a problem.

"Do better! I don't want a promotion."

The kid was wriggling again as Scott hauled him towards the edge. "Hey, calm down, we are getting out of here."

Doing his best to hold the boy still, he peered over the edge. No way down, and there was no way he wanted to go back inside this thing. Thunderbird One was on the far side of the complex. The metal beneath his feet rumbled. Time was running out.

A row of antiquated smoke stacks stood like soldiers along the edge of the plant. They would have to do. Mentally calculating his trajectory, he aimed his grapple gun and fired.

Just as the canister shuddered beneath him and began to swell.

"Scott! Get out of there!"

The gun registered a secure grip and, clutching the boy, he jumped.

And the world exploded.

He couldn't help himself, he yelled, the boy in his arms screaming along with him. They pendulumed into a low arc, but the explosion behind them pushed them back up into the air only to slow reaching the maximum height of their swing.

As they rose, Scott was confronted with the fact that if he didn't disengage the grapple, they were going to swing back into the explosion.

Time slowed.

A click of a button disengaged the grapple. For a moment they floated in the air.

The boy was still screaming, his arms wrapped around Scott's neck in terror. Reaching around him, Scott grabbed a new grapple pack, slapped it into the gun just as they started to fall.

Aim.

Fire.

Hang on for dear life.

And they were swinging again.

Wind rushed past his helmet and once again, they were rising.

"Scott, what the hell are you doing?!"

"Need a little help…" And they were approaching maximum height again.

He disengaged the grapple, the line dropping loose behind them.

Another pack.

Another aim.

The last of the stacks. "Virgil, I need you!"

The grapple thunked solid and their swing began again. "Virgil!"

The roar of VTOL and Thunderbird Two shot past. For a moment he was faced with the prospect of colliding physically with his brother's 'bird, but she drifted off, just far enough.

They reached the full height of their swing and there were no more stacks.

But there was a Thunderbird.

Last grapple pack slapped in.

Aiming at the side of a big green barn.

The blessed thunk of a secured grapple and they were swinging again, but this time their fulcrum moved with them, taking their momentum and slowing them down.

Ever so carefully his brother's 'bird killed their velocity and, ever so carefully, lowered them to the ground.

The grit of gravel beneath his boots was the most wonderful sound. The boy in his arms wrestled free and scuttled away from him, obviously terrified the rescue operative would make him do that again.

Scott disengaged the grapple and threw the gun to the ground. As the chemical plant behind him continued its self destruction, the Commander of International Rescue took a moment to sit his butt in the dirt and try to get his heartbeat back under control.

That had been one hell of a ride.

"Scott, you okay?" Thunderbird Two was making a hasty landing not too far away and no doubt a worried brother would be jumping ship shortly.

"I'm okay, Virg."

"That was one hell of a move."

"No kidding." He drew in a breath. "Thanks for the save."

"Anytime." TB2's VTOL cut out and folded beneath her fuselage giving the explosions behind him aural dominance. "Though next time, drop the Spiderman audition, I'm not sure my blood pressure is up to it."

Scott sighed as the kid continued to back away bit by bit. "No promises, bro. No promises."

-o-o-o-


	9. Nutty wrote wee Tracys

_Yes, I did and I'm blaming_ _godsliltippy_ _for waving a challenge in front of my eyes, however inadvertently. Also apparently the challenge sparked in a discussion between_ _godsliltippy_ _and_ _MadameWinter_ _who needs to share the blame as well._

 _The challenge involved wee!Tracys and fluff and pretty much the plotline I've written, so read it to find out :D_

 _I'm a parent, but I'm not a kiddy person, so I apologise if this comes out with adult voices. I usually write the boys all grown up and I likes them that way :D_

-o-o-o-

Virgil sat back and let his brother dig the hole. It was a very particular hole apparently. Had to be a specific size and shape.

It also appeared to involve full body immersion in the soil. Alan was covered head to toe in dirt. Dad was going to be so happy, not. Perhaps he could get his little brother under the hose before Dad got home.

Scott was inside studying, John reading as usual, and Gordon harassing Grandma. Virgil had taken Alan outside to separate the terrible twosome and give the house some peace. If he had to admit it, he felt like spending some time with the little four year old.

And it was a lovely day.

A blink and he realised Alan had wandered across the garden while he was thinking. He was staring at something in his hand. "Allie?"

"Virgie, what's this?"

His brother turned around holding a mangled foil wrapped object in his palm. Virgil climbed to his feet and wandered over, frowning.

The dots in his head didn't take long to connect.

Reaching out he took the little object from his brother's hand. "It's an Easter egg."

"But it's not Easter."

"No, it's not."

"What's it doin' in the garden?"

"Um...the Easter bunny must have left it last time and we didn't find it."

"But the Easter bunny didn't come this year. Remember."

No, he hadn't. Easter had passed by unacknowledged.

"He came before."

"He did? Why not this year?"

How to explain to a four-year-old why the Easter bunny had stopped coming? Virgil had been eight when he discovered the truth behind the Easter bunny, sneaking out early one morning only to find his mother stashing eggs all over the garden. He had been both devastated and relieved. Devastated at losing the magic, relieved there wasn't really a giant mutant rabbit running around hiding eggs in random places...even if they were chocolate.

When his mother died, so did the Easter bunny.

He rolled the decayed piece of foil wrapped chocolate in his hand. The last person to touch it before Alan had been his mother.

Inexplicably it blurred in front of him.

"Virgie?"

"Uh, sorry Allie. Would you like the Easter bunny to hide eggs for you next year?"

"Could he?"

"I'm sure we can contact him and ask."

"I'll go get my pencils!"

As his brother ran off, he stared at the old egg again. Mom was gone. The thought hurt. But if he had to sacrifice a sleep-in next year to give his little brother the experience of the Easter bunny. He would. Heh, Gordon would love it, too. Despite himself he smiled. They all would love it.

Grabbing the shovel his little bro had been using to dig that no longer important hole, he dug a little one in another corner of the garden. Placing the old egg gently down, he buried it in soil, ever to be part of the garden.

Mom, would always be here. He would make sure of it.

-o-o-o-


	10. Who did it?

_A post-episode ficlet for 3.14. Only contains possible spoilers, none direct, but warning here just in case. Just a possible scene from their past. Angst alert._

 _-o-o-o-_

It was the sound of crying that struck her first.

Walking into the room she was horrified to find her biggest brother hunched over on the lounge, head in his hands. Virgil sat beside him, murmuring unheard words to the back of his head.

That head shook in denial, the usually smooth hair mussed from the fingers that clenched it.

John sat alone on the couch beside, his expression lost and pale. He was almost bleached, his hair and eyes standing out in blatant contrast.

Her gut coiled up and strangled itself.

"Daughter."

Her father was walking towards her, stance, as always, calm and considered, but the hand that reached for her as he approached was shaking.

That was more telling than anything.

"What happened?"

Her father blinked ever so slowly as if battling for control. "Tanusha, we have had some grave news."

Behind her, a laughing ruckus heralded the entrance of the two youngest Tracy boys. She turned around to find Gordon literally poking his brother in the side with a finger. "Gotcha! Told ya I wouldn't miss."

"You suck!"

"I rule!"

"Gordon." It was said quietly by Virgil but it brought the second youngest to a screeching halt. Tanusha watched as he took in the tableau. "What the hell?"

"Language." Virgil again, but it was half hearted and he turned back to Scott who had not acknowledged anyone.

"What's going on?" Alan's voice was small, which was no surprise as he was the smallest in the room.

"There has been an accident." Her father's voice was still calm, but Tanusha could feel the tension beneath and it terrified her.

Alan's eyes darted around the room and he said one word. "Dad?"

Scott looked up and never in her short life had she seen a man so devastated. His eyes were red rimmed, his skin blotchy, but it was his horrified stare that told her everything.

"No."

It came from Alan and the boy took a step back. Scott shot to his feet, Virgil hovering beside him. "I'm sorry, Alan." Scott's voice was hoarse and it broke on his little brother's name.

"What happened?" Gordon was beginning to share John's pallor.

"There was an explosion, your father is missing." Her father's hand found hers and she clung to it.

"No. Not Dad, too." Alan took another step backwards. "No, that's not fair. No, not right."

Scott clambered out of the circular lounge and hurried over to his little brother. A knee hit the hardwood floor as he grabbed his brother's arms and brought himself down to Alan's height. "We'll find him, Allie. We will."

Blue eyes met blue eyes, the younger desperate, the older pain-filled, but equally wanting to reassure that what was happening wasn't permanent.

Virgil was wrapping his arms around Gordon.

Alan burst into tears. John folded on the lounge, his head falling into his hands. Gordon had his face buried in Virgil's shirt. He made no sound. Virgil was murmuring again, his hand this time on Gordon's back.

Her father squeezed her fingers and Tanusha felt everything, but showed nothing.

Where was Grandma?

In the distance, the familiar sound of ocean waves and seabirds. A warm breeze teased through the open glass doors.

Mr Tracy was gone.

The man she looked up to as a second father, the founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, the man who made her Mickey Mouse pancakes when she was feeling down.

Gone.

She looked up at her father and found tears in his eyes.

But something else was there something more than grief. She frowned at him and a horrible suspicion grew in her heart.

Lips thin. "Who did it?"

-o-o-o-


	11. Big Ass

From Tumblr 17 Jul 2019

Nutty's Fandomversary

Today is my Thunderbirds fandomversary :D Today one year ago, I posted my first fic in this fandom - No-one is losing their day today.

To celebrate a wonderful year of TB ficcy goodness and the great time I've had here I'm going to offer ficlets.

One of my favourite types of challenges is one word challenges. So, if you would like a ficlet - In the comments, post a single word and a character (yes, I'll go beyond Virgil, it will be hard, but I will ::grin:: ).

They won't be long (yeah, right, like I have control over anything), but hopefully I can thank all of you with a little bit of fic.

Have at it and challenge me!

Happy Fandomversary!

Nutty

(Thank you so much wonderful fandom peeps for all the fun and kindness and welcome I have received here. It means more and has affected me more than you will ever know ::mad group hug::)

 **Fandomversary Fic One - John and Gravity for redhoodoutlaw91939**

-o-o-o-

"What the hell were you thinking?"

The voice was angry and upset, but it came from so far away, he could hardly hear it.

"You should have just let me fall. It was my own stupid fault." There was a muffled grunt or growl, he wasn't sure which, but it broadcast so much despair, it curdled his gut.

Falling? Yes, there was someone falling. Who?

A long drawn out exhausted sigh echoed through his mind. "Please wake up. I really don't know...I can't...John, please just wake up."

Wake up? He could do that, couldn't he?

Everything was grey and heavy except for that voice. That voice belonged to someone he knew. Someone important.

Another sound. A creak. A door? His mind tried to assemble the connections, the memories that made things what they were. Yes, a door.

Another voice, very soft. "Virg?"

The first voice cleared its throat. "Um, just checking on John before bed."

A sigh again, but this time from a lighter voice. "It's four am, Virgil. Have you been here all night?"

There was no answer to that.

"It wasn't your fault. Just shitty luck. John will recover...we have to believe that."

Another grunt. Something nudged him. There was touch.

Touch. He could feel.

The grey shifted around him and he drew in a breath.

"You need to go to bed. You're not doing yourself or him any good doing this."

"I-"

"Virgil!"

It shook him. The worried anger in that voice, a voice that had been authority for so long.

"What?! What do you want, Scott?! For everything to just keep going like it always has, despite the loss of one of our own?! Can you keep doing this knowing he is lying here and may never wake up? I can't, okay. I-I have to stop. Just stop! Please, Scott, just let it stop!"

There were tears in that voice. John wanted to reach out and comfort, reassure, be there for...who?

"God, Virg, come here." Words were muffled and sad. "You're tired and you're not thinking straight.

"Sc-"

"You're going to bed, now." Yet another sigh. "He is going to be all right. The doctors said he just needs a little more time."

"Then why hasn't he woken up?! For god's sake, why did he have to be the one. If it was anyone else-"

"He will recover, Virgil. You need sleep."

"I can't sleep. Not while he's here."

"Virgil-"

"He has to wake up, Scott. Or I'll never forgive myself."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I fell on him! Do you know what that feels like? What it sounds like to hear a bone snap under your own weight. To hear a skull crack against concrete."

"In fact, I do Virgil. I fell on you last year. Remember the concussion from hell at Easter and all the chocolate that Gordon paraded past you until you actually puked on him?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because I don't spend most of my life in orbit and my bone density is just a little less fragile."

"John is going to be fine. You're exhausted. When did you last sleep?" Silence. "Have you slept since the accident?"

More silence.

"For goodness sake, Virgil! You are still recovering yourself! Give your body half the chance."

"I'm fine."

"John looks better than you do!"

"I can't sleep."

"Then you're not fine."

"I just want him to wake up."

John pondered that for a moment as only the sound of harsh breathing echoed through the grey. He was being touched again. Spritely little nerve endings firing away happily as they connected with another life force.

"Please wake up."

Well, he really should do something to stop all the shouting.

"It is kinda hard to sleep with you two yelling at each other."

"JOHN!"

"Ah! Do you mind? Injured oper'tive here." Eyes, c'mon eyes, sick of the grey...

A shove and his eyelids cracked and let the room in.

Two brothers.

Two worried brothers.

Both looked rather horrible.

"Y'look horrible."

A slow blink punctuated by twin snorts.

"How do you feel?" Scott...that was Scott.

"Like I need sleep. G'way." Force the eyes open again. He stared at his brothers...no, one brother, the dark haired one, augh, where was the information precision he was used to? Virgil! His brother, Virgil. The heavy one. "Y're heavy."

"I'm sorry." It was a desolate sound.

"N't your fault." Again with the blink. God, it was slow. "Gravity. Gravity sucks. Without gr'vity you'd only be mass and ev'n your big ass mass flo'ts. Lots. No falling. Only floating. And floating is fun." He grinned. Yes, that's what he did. But more important things. "Go sleep. I need sleep. You need sleep. Big ass needs sleep. Y'look like horrible."

His hand was squeezed and Virgil smiled at him. He was kinda blurry, teary looking. "Go bed, big ass."

"Oh god."

"C'mon, Virg, better do what he says."

He missed his brother's response as his eye lids drooped again. Maybe he was on some medication.

"You know if Gordon finds out.."

"Shut up, Scott."

Something touched his leg. "Sleep, Johnny."

"G'way and I will. Don't call me Johnny."

"We're going."

But John's eyes were closed and refused to open anymore. Somewhere a door creaked and then there was blessed silence.

-o-o-o-


	12. I'm fine

"Scott!"

His brother's name was torn from his lips as his blue-suited figure plummeted past him in the rain.

Virgil dropped his line from the dilapidated building and threw himself at his brother, exo-suit flailing in the wind.

Rain blurred his heads-up display.

John yelled in his ear.

Red digits counted down the distance to the ground.

His arm came up, the inbuilt grapple gun initialised.

His claw reached.

Teeth on uniform.

The gun fired.

He twisted in mid-air drawing his brother above him, giving him the distance to take the sudden stop.

His line sung taut and the world came to a godawful halt.

A moment of disorientation.

"Virgil?"

Huh?

"You can put me down now." Scott.

Rain dribbled down his helmet in rivulets.

He blinked, those red digits blurry.

"Virgil?" John. "You with us, bro?"

The red digits sharpened. Zero point one metres.

The wind rose a moment, buffeting him.

Metal scraped on concrete.

He was hanging ten centimetres off the ground, Scott held aloft in one claw.

Shit!

He gently put his brother down. "Scott?!"

"I'm okay. Spectacular bruising, but okay." His brother struggled to his feet, groaning.

Virgil stared at him a moment, his heart catching up with his brain. He swallowed. Oh god.

"Virg, you good?"

"Fine." So, his voice was up an octave from normal.

Shit.

He unhooked himself from his line and let himself fall those last ten centimetres.

"Totally fine."

-o-o-o-


	13. Virgil, You Smell

"Virgil, you smell."

"Excuse me?" Pre-flight checks were running through his head, he did not have time for Gordon's babble at the moment. It had been a nasty situation, it was well into the hour of the wolf, he just wanted to go home.

"You stink."

"And you are as subtle as always. There was mud, there was swamp, I will be cleaning muck off Two for the next week. Your point?"

The aquanaut threw himself into the co-pilot's seat muttering to himself. A click and he was secured. Virgil did the last of pre-flight and checked in with Bangladesh Air Control to get clearance.

Gordon wrinkled his nose. "Not swamp, too flavoursome."

"The hell, Gordon?" He was so tired.

"Hey, I'm just reporting the facts here, Virg. You or something reeks in here."

"It was a swamp, Gordon. 'Reek' comes with the territory."

"And I said, it was too flavoursome." The image that accompanied that statement was enough to roil his stomach. Fortunately, Air Control confirmed their ascent path and Virgil was able to begin the launch sequence. VTOL fired and within moments they were airborne. As soon as they were high enough, Virgil kicked in the rear thrusters and the ship threw herself forward, as eager to go home as her pilot.

As her flight stabilised, Virgil let himself slowly sink into his chair. God he was tired. Monsoon season was always a challenge. Flooding, mudslides and the storms themselves often ran them ragged and today was no exception.

"What the hell is that smell? You sure you're not passing Grandma's curry?"

"What?! I didn't eat any of Grandma's curry."

"Oh, so that's why Scott was looking so peeved. Got out of it did you?"

"Nice to know you noticed I was missing."

"Nah, not a guilt trip, man. Our schedule is shit, you could have been anywhere."

"Yet you didn't ask."

"Obviously didn't need to." Gordon slumped in his seat. "If it isn't the curry, then what is it?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Gordon. Swamp is swamp. Maybe you're smelling your own butt. Apparently you had Grandma's curry last night."

"Are you kidding me? I sacrificed your pet bromeliad."

"You did what?!"

"Hey, you're the one who stuck the pot outside the kitchen door. Obvious target."

"It's an epiphyte, Gordon, it doesn't have any soil. What the hell did you do with the curry?"

His brother blinked. "Oh, well that explains that."

"What?"

"Why Grandma was yelling at Alan for this morning. She had the mop out and everything."

"Gordon!"

"Anyway, it doesn't matter." His brother sat up straighter in his seat completely dismissing the topic. "We still don't know what that damn smell is. What the hell is it? Sure it's not you?"

Virgil just stared at his brother. Sure, they got sweaty and dirty and were far too familiar with each other's 'scents', but come on. "Swamp, Gordon, swamp."

Gordon climbed out of his seat. "Too juicy for swamp, Virg, how many times do I have to say it?" He wandered towards the back of the cockpit. "Hmm, definitely less of it over here."

His brother then proceeded to sniff like some kind of half aquatic bloodhound around the cabin. Virgil still had no idea what he was babbling on about, but then his nose had been stuffy all day. Knowing his luck he had probably caught some tropical fever in that blasted swamp.

Speaking of which, a tissue wouldn't hurt. Flipping on auto pilot, he pushed back in his seat and creaked to his feet. Damn it had been a long day. He frowned, then sighed. Two days if he counted the hours. Two days of sweltering heat, bugs and mud.

Reaching the overhead locker where he stashed all the personal items that might be needed in flight, he unlatched it and opened it.

"Oh my god!" Even through stuffed nasal passages, the reek watered his brain. "What the hell is that?"

"Shit." Gordon had fingers squeezing his nose. "I think you located the source."

"No kidding."

"Gordon?"

"What?"

"Why is there a baguette in the supply locker?

"A baguette?" His brother looked completely mystified for a moment, but then a light bulb flicked on in his eyes. "Oh, um, yeah, about that."

"It's green."

"Yeah."

"And furry."

"Yeah."

"And it stinks."

"That it does." Gordon's head tilted a little. "Might have something to do with the ham and relish and probably the mayo."

"What is it doing on my ship?" It had been a very, very long day.

"Food supplies?"

"We have a refrigeration unit for that."

"Yeah, well, that was too far away at the time."

Virgil stared at his brother. "Even you are not that lazy."

"Well, I was distracted."

Virgil's frown was going to cleave his face in half. "When?" He stared at the mouldy baguette and realised there was something shoved behind it. Reaching up and avoiding the fur as much as possible, he grabbed the hidden object.

And pulled out a wine glass.

He stared at it. "Gordon?!"

"Uh, I can explain."

"Were you on my ship with Penelope?"

"Uh..."

"Oh god."

"Well, she was such a good co-pilot and I was sick last time..." Yes, his brother was backing away.

Virgil felt like breaking something.

The stem of the glass snapped in his hand.

Gordon's eyes widened and a wrinkle of worry twisted his eyebrows. "Uh, c'mon, Virg, you know how it is on the Island. Hard to find a little privacy and she did show such interest in your 'bird. You were asleep after that mission in Paris and it just seemed right." He managed a weak smile. "I didn't think you'd mind." And there were the puppy dog eyes of his little brother. Now in a body all grown up and definitely dating a very special woman, but still a puppy. Still the same eyes that had Virgil covering for him when he got himself into strife as a kid.

Damn it.

Virgil turned away and walked back towards his pilot chair. "Just clean it up." Clipped and hard, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. Reaching his seat, he stared at it a moment. "Gordon, what exactly did you do in my cockpit?"

God, please, not in his pilot's seat.

"Um, lunch?"

Virgil groaned. "Considering lunch is now a very smelly science experiment, I'm finding that very hard to believe." A sigh. "You know what? I don't want to know." His hands shot out in dismissal. "In fact, I wish I didn't know any of it. Would be better for my mental health." If he raked a hand through his hair, he could blame the mess on the swamp rescue. He sat in his seat and refused to think about it. Killing the autopilot, he began the approach for home and his beloved bed.

The miscreant was grinning at him. "Well, Virg, you know the devil's in the details-"

"Shut up, Gordon, or I'll help you eat your 'lunch'." A thought. "Also, I suspect Scott will be very interested in those details and how they apply to conduct aboard an IR vessel."

The grin vanished and the puppy eyes widened. "Virg-"

As Thunderbird Two banked into land, Virgil smiled just a little. Oh, the blackmail material he now had at hand.

That he knew he would never use.

A sigh.

"Just clean up the mess and never speak of it again."

There were some things he just didn't want to know.

-o-o-o-


	14. The Thunder

**The Thunder**

They say that when you are dying, there is a bright light. Like the light at the end of a tunnel. Bright and all consuming.

What they don't mention is the thunder.

The roar that vibrates your bones, grinds your teeth and shakes the ground.

The dust gets in your eyes and you blink madly, desperate to clear the tears, to see that light, to know everything will be okay, despite the blood, despite the pain.

You fight and call out and beg for an answer.

And suddenly there it is.

There's a hand.

There's a man.

A chance.

To survive.

He doesn't know your name. He doesn't care. He only knows that you need saving, you need help. That is his reason.

His only reason.

His face blurs amongst the tears, but he is talking to you.

Softly.

Kindly.

The whole world is shaking, but that flash of honest eyes holds you in the moment, dares you that chance that you might, just might…

See tomorrow.

And with that, you are wrapped up in his world, caught by his safety, cocooned in his reassurance and his thunder…

It roars, screams at the sky, breaking the blue with orange-white fire. The vibration in your bones sings, a chorus of pain and relief and an all consuming gratitude.

And you know.

You are saved.

You are rescued.

By the light.

By the thunder.

And the man in blue.

-o-o-o-


	15. Shaky Hands

**Whumptober 1 - Shaky Hands**

 _I'm being realist and know I can't complete this, but in an aid to get at least something done, particularly while I'm still juggling two major WIPs, VT Green and Dirt, I am going to attempt to just write shorts for this challenge, if anything at all._

 _The result of this will likely be a whole bunch more WIPs, but to start with I thought I would visit the past of_ _Lumberjack_ _and use some of the prompts to build up some of that backstory. or at least play around in it :D_

 _I hope you enjoy this little tidbit. Not my best, but something at least. ::hugs::_

-o-o-o-

He held the brush as firm as he could, paint on its very tip, and touched it to the canvas.

It wobbled.

No.

Control.

He could do this.

"Virgil."

He bit his lip.

Control.

The line of paint drifted across the white of the prepped surface…and twitch-…hold it!…he lifted the brush off as his hand spasmed.

"Virgil-"

"I can do thith!"

"Please be patient with yourself." John's voice was soft. "Your injury-"

"Sthcrew my injuthries!"

He let the brush touch down again, lips tight. He had to do this. He had to regain…

His hand spasmed again, shaking with the nerve damage and the line wandered, jagged as expected.

A grunt of pain and despair as fingers gently lifted his hand away from the painting. "The doctors said to give it time. You're expecting too much of yourself."

He yanked himself out of his brother's grip. "Is it too muth to ethpect to be able to ethpreth mythelf?"

John reached out, hesitant, but determined, and drew him into his embrace. The hand on the left side of Virgil's head avoided the scars on his right. The kiss in his hair had his eye closing. John had been so tactile since…

Virgil pulled away.

Paint splattered.

He turned his back on his brother and lifted the brush again.

He had to get it out.

Get it out.

Get.

It.

Out.

Out. Out. Out.

His heart twisted.

The brush dropped to the floor and his fingernails scratched against the canvas.

-o-o-o-


	16. Whump War 1

**Whump War - Volley One**

 _Weapons chosen : Scott and Alan Tracy_

 _Theatre of war: Orbital space_

 _Target:_ _ak47stylegirl_

"Alan!" It was a yell in vain because there was nothing either Scott or Alan could do as the tow cable snapped.

Thunderbird Three spun in space as the mass of the freighter wrenched on the remaining cable. Scott fired her thrusters, but it was too late.

His little brother, who had been attaching the cable to the freighter's hull, was flung off spinning into space.

"Alan! Do you read me? Alan?!"

No response.

"John, do you have him?"

"Scott, you need to get out there! He's injured and losing oxygen."

"You have Three!"

"Hurry!"

The fear in John's voice propelled him through Three's cargo bay door and out into the cold of space. As always, its empty black was uninviting, but right now, it was threatening.

Horribly threatening.

It took forever for his jetpack to cover the fast increasing distance between him and his brother. Alan was spinning in space, his form limp as it could be in zero gravity. Scott approached and reaching out, stopped his brother's spin as gently as possible. "Alan!"

There was no response.

The lights of Alan's helmet lit up the crack in its plexiglass and the crystals of ice forming on his brother's face.

-o-o-o-

TBC?


	17. The Castle (Whump War 2)

Whump War 2

 _Weapons chosen : Scott Tracy_

 _Theatre of war: Dark spooky castle_

 _Target:_ _samantha-tvandmovies_

-o-o-o-

 **The Castle**

 _Warnings: minor Virgil/Kayo and Gordon/Penelope, but you could miss it easily. Approx. 1300 words. I woke up with this scene in my head and couldn't resist :D_

It was a goddamned castle.

John had said it was, but to see it in the fragmented light of the crescent moon…it was straight out of a halloween tale and no less corny.

Kay called a wordless halt, her fingers dancing IR hand signals in ways he had never seen it used before.

He dropped to the ground.

She didn't want him here. He knew it in his soul, but in the absence of Scott, Virgil was in charge and there was no way in hell he was not going to be here.

Cloud drifted across the sky, teasing darkness.

His heads-up display outlined all the necessary detail. The fact it was generated by a pair of glasses rather than his helmet was odd, but he was slowly getting used to it. The black of his uniform and the shadow of his lover moving through the grass would take a little more time.

That and the sight of his aquanaut brother dressed equally in head to toe black, blonde hair hidden as much as that of Penny's beside him…

This was a side of International Rescue he did not get to see. There was something wrong, something forbidden, and something that went against everything he believed in. But it was necessary. It was Kay and Penny's world and they had no hesitation leveraging his little brother's historical skillset either.

Virgil's skillset lay in a completely different realm.

And this felt wrong.

Kay signalled them forward. They had landed silently and hidden by stealth technology not far away. Shadow earning her name as FAB1, equally hidden, alighted beside her.

Virgil was somewhat fascinated to see Gordon and Penelope working as a team. He was aware of Gordon's WASP history, though he highly suspected his brother had left out a few details from the family at large. Scott knew everything, Virgil had no doubt, but not the rest of them. In this situation there was something cold in Gordon's eyes. Virgil hated this as much as anyone, but Gordon's fury had an edge and Virgil found himself just that little bit afraid of what his brother might do.

They ran across open grassland, their shadows merging with the stumps of dead trees. It had obviously once been a garden, but it had been razed, nature taking it back with the exception of the occasional hack with a lawnmower. The ground under his feet was uneven at times and in the dark it was a challenge to keep his footing.

And he wasn't as quiet as Kay wanted him to be.

He couldn't help it. This wasn't his realm. She had argued with him. Even told him outright he would compromise the mission. But it was with him or not at all.

She hadn't spoken to him for several hours after that. It had hurt. It wasn't a case of him not trusting her, it was…well, he had to be here.

He had to be.

They made it to a side door, surprisingly undetected. The words Kay's fingers were using weren't happy at the prospect and she suspected a trap.

But that had been on the cards anyway.

Gordon had been the one to invent the swearing vocabulary of their hand signals and he took this opportunity to elaborate.

Virgil bit his lip.

And clung to the gun in his hand.

He missed his exo-suit. He was used to relying on it, knowing it was in his toolkit. He missed his 'bird. He missed his other brothers, but there was no way in hell he was allowing Alan on this and John was safe on Five performing overwatch duties as always.

His lip gave way under the pressure of his teeth and he tasted blood.

It was Penelope who got them into the building, but it was Kay who separated them. Penny and Gordon to the upper levels, Virgil and Kay to the horribly stereotyped concept of the dungeons. They slunk into poorly lit hallways, old LEDs strung haphazardly like Christmas lights, the only source of illumination.

He followed her silent steps, trying ever so hard to emulate them.

He was in charge, but he wasn't. This was Kay's world and he had temporarily stepped foot in it, and he feared he wasn't up to the challenge.

But he had to be.

Her hand signalled a halt and they merged into the shadow.

A single man walked past. An everyday Joe, jeans, red t-shirt, hands in pockets. He was an anachronism up against the worn stone wall. He kept walking, disappearing around the corner, none-the-wiser to their presence.

Kay lowered her gun, just a little.

Her eyes were hidden by her glasses, but he could guess her expression.

He swallowed.

And they were moving again.

Corridor after corridor, John whispering in their ears. Room after room and they still couldn't find what they were looking for. Virgil's hackles were more than standing on end as the odd person walked past looking nothing like an evil henchman or halloween participant.

Just the castle. Just the rock walls.

Just his patience wearing thin.

Perhaps that was the methodology employed, because eventually one of those average Joes pulled a gun and spun on Virgil.

He didn't yelp, he would be proud of that later, but then he didn't have a chance to do anything else as Kay shot the guy, the stun pellet taking him down fast and silently.

Virgil stared as she dragged the unconscious man into the shadows and searched him.

"We have to hurry." The words were the first she had said since they landed and they startled him. But the communication device she palmed from the body, was enough to drill the point home.

So they moved. Stealth was sacrificed for speed. Several more men fell before Kay's gun. Virgil hurried to follow. John was muttering in his ear, angry he had yet to locate their objective. It kept moving apparently. It wasn't until something hissed in some Slavic language danced across comms and Eos chimed in with a triumphant word, that his brother finally was able to give them coordinates.

His brother spat them.

The last time he had heard John use that tone of voice, several companies had suddenly found themselves bankrupt.

You don't mess with John.

You don't mess with Kay.

As three more men, these guys more appropriately attired, found out. Unfortunately, an alarm was triggered and it blared off into the distance.

Gordon and Penelope checked in. They were on target and ready to deploy at their word. Kay swore between her teeth.

But then they were where they needed to be, two guards down for the count, and Virgil's skillset came into play.

The door was thick set, its lock solid steel, but it had no defence against the appropriate explosive, which Virgil deployed with expert ease.

He didn't wait for Kay when he burst in.

His heads-up display gave him all the detail. Far too much detail, so he yanked off the glasses.

His eldest brother lay in a discarded heap in one corner of the room. He wore little more than his torn undershirt and shorts. His bed was a piece of dirty hessian.

"Scott!" Virgil was beside him, his hands assessing, his eyes desperately seeking blue.

His prone brother groaned, his gaze bleary as he looked up. Bruises, a possibly broken cheekbone, gashed forehead hidden in grime. The body beneath Virgil's hands was trembling. "V-gil?"

"Oh, god, Scott." His hand grabbed his mediscanner and it immediately started screaming nasty numbers and broken bones.

"You c-cme?"

"We're here, Scott. We're here."

Tears appeared in his brother's eyes. "Thank g-d." The shoulders under his hands relaxed just a little, still shaking.

"Th-nk g-d."

-o-o-o-


	18. Isolation

**Isolation**

 _Tissue warning. I need to shoot myself with the candy cannon for this one. I'm sorry. ::hugs you all:: Major character death._

-o-o-o-

Sometimes I stare out across the ocean and wonder what a normal life would be like.

Okay, so really there is no such thing as 'normal', but I'm talking average income, wife, two kids, the picket fence fantasy that we all grow up with. What would it be like to come home from the office or the workshop and greet the woman I love at the door, wander in, tussle my children's hair, throw a log on the fire, and put my feet up while loving and being loved.

 _The clatter of my helmet as it slips from my hand and hits the hardwood floor._

I didn't ask to be rich. Well, we weren't rich to begin with, but we are now. The money is a means to an end and I will admit, I don't mind the ability to buy whatever I need, whenever I want to. But then when it really matters, the money doesn't.

I guess International Rescue was Dad's attempt to make that money matter. To make the cold hard cash be worth as much as possible, make it work harder, count its value in lives. It didn't matter with Mom's life, but it matters now for so many others.

 _The specialised rubber of my boots just doesn't grip the wood hard enough or make me move fast enough._

But out here on the Island, we are so isolated, so set apart from the rest of the world, it sometimes seems we are no longer a part of it. Our world is so different from the rest. Our world is mandated by the alarm, by our response, by the roar of rockets and lives in the balance. We do what fate asks us to do. There is little control.

Heh, I say that with my tongue in my cheek, because my eldest brother thrives on control. Every situation has a calculated response, a successful response, a number of steps in a dance that will save lives.

A lack of control invites death.

 _No, no, no! My feet are skidding as I fall to the floor beside her. The shadow of Dad's desk is falling on her still face._

Sure, it isn't a bad life. As with all lives it has its up and downs. Perhaps our ups and downs are a little more extreme than the average, but we get by. We have a closeness in our family that I value more than anything else. There are moments shared between us that the average person misses out on. Most brothers grow up, move our and see each other on holidays. We see each other every day. We share our lives, live in the same house, support each other. It has its moments. The confetti incident of 2064 being a great example. And if Gordon puts itching powder in my shorts one more time, the guy is dead. But honestly? I value our relationships. My brothers and our sister, my grandmother and, of course, Brains…we have something special.

 _My hands move automatically into the chant of first aid, but even as I touch her cooling skin, I know I'm too late. She's gone._

 _Gone._

 _No!_

But never did I think that the isolation would be the death of us. Never did I think of leaving her alone, by herself day after day would cumulate in this. She never hinted that there was a problem. My grandmother was as tough as nails. The woman knew alone, did alone, and never feared it. Isolation was something she never considered a foe. She flew around the world by herself, for crying out loud. Little did she or we know it would be the death of her. If she hadn't been alone. If she had been in reach of help. If we hadn't left her! She would still be with us.

 _I grab her and hold her close and the tears come unbidden. Grandma! No, Grandma! My Grandma._

I am so sorry.

-o-o-o-


	19. Blanket

**Blanket**

 _Okay, so it is not Friday and not yet November, but I was desperate to write and this was the only thing that worked. And let's face it, I have to grab it when I can. I have no control over anything._

 _So you've got fluff. I hope you enjoy it._

 _Fluffember prompt #2 Blanket_

-o-o-o-

It was old.

Scott wasn't exactly sure how old, but it had been around all his life at least. A hand-knitted patchwork of colours, likely from scraps of wool from other projects. Maybe Nanna? Nanna knitted didn't she?

His memories of his mother's mother were so vague, he couldn't be sure. Gran Roca, dusty wind, gentle hugs, colours and not much more.

Of course, it could have been their mother, but he doubted it. She wouldn't have had the time. Between her engineering team at Tracy Industries and five young children, she had been stretched thin.

Memories.

He fingered the blanket. It was frayed at the edges. One patch of lighter wool had a stain on it that could be attributed to John, a nasty flu and spaghetti bolognese. He could still remember Grandma's panic at the time and the rush to get the wool soaking and clean.

It had seen many an illness. It was a go to when one of them was feeling down.

Of course, it wasn't the only blanket available, they were a large family, after all. Each brother had their own snuggle rug, as Gordon called them. Each with its own unique motif, all terribly predictable.

Alan's was the single bed quilt from his kiddy racing car bed, the only part of that set up that had survived the great paint explosion of 2052.

It had survived because it had been in another room at the time.

No one commented when it came out, his little brother usually buried under it on the lounge. When the racing car quilt came out, it was time for hugs, not stirring jokes.

Gordon, of course, had a giant squid faux mink blanket. The thing was massive, incredibly soft and the only one in existence. Virgil had it made during Gordon's recovery. Their brother had lost so much weight, he had been cold all the time. The blanket was king size and huge. Big enough for more than one brother, if needed.

You would think John would have some space age material designed to be super warm, but no. A simple hand knitted star motif in soft wool was deployed on those nights when gravity crawled across his skin and the unregulated atmosphere crept under it. Scott wasn't sure where he got it from. It just appeared shortly after his first stint on Five and it tended to reappear for the same reason.

Virgil's blanket had paint stains. Specifically from the incident where he caught his brother in his studio shivering with a fever of 39C after that damned swamp rescue three years ago. The idiot's hand had been shaking, struggling to paint anything, but for some stubborn artistic reason, he had had to paint right at that moment. Something about getting it all down now, before he lost it.

He lost it alright. Spilt his paint water all over himself, along with orange and blue paint when the canvas over balanced and fell on him.

The soft Scottish blend of wools had never been the same again. Grandma had once again been the once desperately trying to get the stains out of wool, while Scott carted his brother off to the infirmary.

Of course, on a tropical island, there often wasn't much need for blankets, but they still used them. Sometimes they were scrunched up into makeshift pillows on the couch. Sometimes they were just something to curl up around.

It wasn't like any of them had much in the way of bed company most nights and Scott wasn't above seeking comfort in the soft folds of warm and familiar fabric on those nights when loneliness and his life beat him down to the basics.

But this blanket, this well worn host of memories, had seen them all.

He slipped the folded bulk out of the closet and let it unravel in his hands. There was a tiny hole forming in one corner. He must remember to get out the darning needle and fix that when he got a chance, before it became too big.

But for now, the blanket was needed.

Closing the closet door, he flung the knitted fabric over one arm and headed down to the comms room.

It was dark outside and the house was quiet, most of the family had drifted off to bed an hour or so ago, leaving Scott and the one other occupant of the room to talk.

And talk they did.

Spread out on the sofas with room to spare, Scott and Virgil had shared a drink and simple conversation. Not about International Rescue, not about the Thunderbirds, not about work.

Just talk.

A few memories, a few aspirations, Virgil's latest painting, a dash of current affairs, a little gossip regarding Scott's secretary at TI and Alan.

It had been a good talk.

But life still existed even when you tried to ignore it, and Thunderbird Two had been out most of the day. Three rescues, all successful, but everyone was only allotted a certain amount of energy per day and at eleven o'clock at night, Virgil hit his limit.

Soft snores echoed across the hardwood floor as Scott re-entered the room. He had dimmed the lights and closed the main glass doors. The room felt cocooned and safe. The moon peeked through the rafters, hinting at the outside world, but for the moment, everything else was shut out.

They were protected.

Scott stepped softly across to the sunken lounge where Virgil was curled up on a sofa. An empty tumbler sat discarded on the end table.

His brother had shoved a cushion under his cheek and mashed his face into it. Technically the sofa was too short and too skinny for his large frame, but Virgil had curled himself up into a ball of flannel and denim.

Steel caps lay discarded on the floor.

The cushion was subjected to drool.

Scott couldn't help but smile.

Virgil's face was slack and so young in sleep. His huge hands were fisted up under his chin like the child he used to be and Scott was suddenly struck by the images of so many other nights with so many younger versions of his little brother doing exactly the same thing, yet smaller.

The smile turned into a fond grin.

Moments like these made everything worth it.

He spread the old blanket over Virgil's legs, the folds landing softly over socked feet, and draped it across his waist.

His brother snorted and wriggled as only a man of his size could.

An unintelligible mutter, a sigh, and the snoring returned.

Still smiling, Scott straightened and backed away, turning to leave.

Dimming the lights to almost non-existence, he headed towards the stairs and his own bed.

-o-o-o-


	20. Snapshot

**Snapshot**

 _Written at the speed of light, to dramatic music._

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Two swoops in over the construction site, Alan Tracy nimble at her controls.

The great green 'bird roars, VTOL flaring orange in the darkness of dawn.

Down below amongst the girders, Virgil Tracy flexes his arms and swings the exo-suit around, the largest claw grabbing metal and wrenching it from the tangled mess of collapsed half-built building.

"Now."

The word is said by Gordon Tracy, at the hands of a heavy-duty pod, as he reverses and swings it around, claws full of concrete.

Alan complies, firing the grapples at the concrete slab and, with a yank at the controls, shifts the side of the building into the sky.

The air groans.

And then it roars as Thunderbird One appears from nowhere, late to the party, but there faster than any others. Scott Tracy flings himself from her cockpit, jetpack firing, harness in hand. His feet hit the uppermost remaining structure. Words of support and he has his rescuee secured.

Below Virgil is shedding his suit, resorting to moving debris with his gloved hands.

Song sings across the airwaves as far above them all, a voice connects them all. The Eye in the Sky hovers, pulling threads of conversation from all across the planet and weaving them into a fabric of sense. The strong but musical voice of John Tracy orchestrates the events, his daughter stepping in at will to join the dance.

Virgil calls out to the people trapped beneath them. "Hang tight, we're nearly there!"

Concrete shifts.

Alan yells.

The sky roars.

The thunder of the 'birds crying out in defiance.

Grapples fire.

Virgil swings around, claws catching the falling girders.

Metal on metal screeches.

The voice from the sky sings.

And International Rescue moves as one.

-o-o-o-


	21. The Curl in the Middle of his Forehead

_This fic has been on my iPad for the last three days and seriously suffers from interrupted muse and the need to go and earn money. There were arguments with it and at least three rewrites, so it isn't anywhere near as good as I would like it to be._

 _But it is what it is, I'm sick of staring at it and wants to write something else. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all your wonderful support. you guys are amazing._

 _Fluffember prompt #15 - Hair_

-o-o-o-

He discovered it when Virgil was eleven.

It had been a bad day. His father was out of town. There had been a fight at school. The second eldest came home with a black eye, bruised knuckles and such uncharacteristic profanity as to stun even Scott.

John had slunk in behind, dashing up to his room to hide almost immediately.

The note from school was handed over to Grandma, but Scott got his hands on it.

The words written on it it had him spitting as much vitriol as his little brother. Three boys had cornered John, harassed him, upended his bag and thrown his books into a ditch. John had attempted to fight back, this wasn't the first incident after all.

Virgil had intervened.

Virgil was small for his age, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in fury and determination. Two boys wouldn't be doing that again. The third, the one responsible for the black eye, had been dragged off the fuming Tracy by school security.

Grandma was horrified, of course, and their father called. But he was in New York and couldn't make it back until the next day. She hugged Virgil, making sure he was okay, before hurrying upstairs to check on John, who, no doubt, was not handling it well at all.

Gordon and Alan were all over the injury Virgil was sporting and were buzzing like flies. A snarl from Virgil sent them scattering and a flick of the entertainment remote had them frozen in front of the projector for afternoon cartoons.

That left Scott with Virgil.

His brother had stopped swearing and fallen quiet, his eyes shifting anywhere but up at his big brother.

"Hey, you did good."

One bloodshot chocolate eye widened at him, only to wince as it pulled on the other one. "Really?"

"Those three needed to be taught a lesson. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

"Not your fault."

No, it wasn't, but leaving four younger brothers at their old school while he graduated into another was an annoyance that continued to rankle him. Virgil had to step in as the eldest at the school and it frustrated Scott. He felt he should be there.

"You okay?"

Virgil snorted and shifted the cold pack Grandma had shoved into his hands and held against his eye. "You should have seen them run."

"You got them good."

"Yes, I did."

They shared a smile and that was that.

Until later that night.

Dinner had been a quiet affair, neither John or Virgil speaking much and everyone else, including the terrible two, picking up on the mood. Both elder boys disappeared to their rooms as soon as possible. Scott helped Grandma with cleanup and she took the opportunity to discuss the situation with him.

He promised to keep an eye on his two brothers as much as possible. Their father would be flying in tomorrow.

Night rolled in, the youngest were sent to bed, and checking on a sleeping John and Virgil, Scott sought his own bed.

Only to be woken at 2am.

His first thought was that it was John calling out. Scott's room was between the two and his middle brother was the one who had been subjected to the bullying.

But a turn of his head and he realised the muffled cry had come from the opposite direction. Virgil?

Slipping out of bed, Scott crept from his room into his brother's only to find him asleep, tangled in his sheets, caught in a nightmare.

"Virg."

Virgil didn't have nightmares often, but when he did, they were vivid. The descriptive detail of the Godzilla that had haunted his dreams when he was six had given the eight-year-old Scott his own nightmares.

"Virg!" A hissed whisper, and Scott shook his brother's shoulder.

Virgil shifted, rolling onto his side and curling up into a ball. "John!" It was a plaintive wail and Virgil reached out in his sleep for someone who wasn't there.

Scott caught his hand. "Virgil, wake up."

Clawed fingers wrapped around his. "Mom." It was a desolate whimper and despite himself, it tore at Scott. Their mother was a sore spot that never quite healed.

"C'mon, Virg, wake up." He reached out and brushed his fingers through his brother's hair, desperate to break the spell he was under.

Virgil sighed. A single exhale of 'Mom' and his whole body relaxed.

Scott's eyes widened. He brushed his fingers through those curled forelocks again and Virgil literally sagged into the bed. His breath quietened.

"Virg?"

"Hmmm, Mom." And to Scott's amazement, his little brother smiled in his sleep.

One or two more brushes with those fingers and Virgil was deeply and contentedly asleep, all traces of nightmare gone.

Scott stared at his fingers, questions sprouting like weeds.

He stayed until he was sure Virgil was content before wandering back to his room, thoughts of his mother spinning in his head.

-o-o-o-

Admittedly he forgot about it until the next time Virgil caught the flu. Scott came home from school to find him curled up in front of the projector, pale and restless. Grandma reported that he hadn't settled very well all day, wasn't eating, couldn't sleep, the usual symptoms of a flu-ridden brother. The terrible two were banished from the room the moment they got home, but still Virgil lay there, bleary-eyed and drawn.

Scott sat with him for a while, quietly doing his homework reading. Virgil muttered something at him and poked the remote, killing the projector.

"You okay, Virg."

"Mmph." It was a snot ridden sound.

Reaching over, Scott caught the curl on his forehead and gently combed it out of his eyes.

His brother sighed, his body relaxing just a little.

Scott blinked, suddenly remembering the nightmare incident. Another finger passed through his brother's hair and Virgil went limp, his eyes closing.

The eldest stared at his brother. A little more soft combing and Virgil was asleep. Still snotty and definitely snoring, but asleep.

Sitting back on his heels, Scott stored the information for later.

-o-o-o-

And it came in handy. Over the years, through sleepless nights, injuries, illness and worry, Scott kept that little action to himself and deployed it at need. As his brother grew older, his hairdryer and product stole the curl from his forehead, but Scott was still able to help his brother sleep when needed, Virgil's response often including a soft call to his mother.

Whether Virgil knew about this remained to be seen and there was no way in hell Scott was going to tell him. None of his brothers knew and he planned to keep it that way.

It helped Virgil, and that fact helped Scott when he was stuck beside a hospital bed and could do nothing else for his brother. It became a connection between the two of them, that only one of them knew about.

Scott suspected the source was something their mother used to do to calm an infant Virgil. He knew there was no way he could, or would ever want to replace Mom, but it gave Virgil comfort, and he would do far worse to achieve that.

-o-o-o-


	22. Sludge be damned

_Warnings: Post-Signals Part 2 (S3, Ep 15), may contain spoilers._

 _Thanks to vegetacide and scribbles97 for their wonderful support of my craziness._

 _Fluffember 2019 Prompt #1 – hugs._

-o-o-o-

"Hey, Virg." The hum of an approaching hoverchair.

"Gordo." Virgil had his head in Thunderbird Four's port rear thruster. There was something clogging the filter and it was stuck.

A bit of leverage was needed. He shoved his long handled flathead screw driver under the lip. A wriggle. Ah, yes, there you go. The filter slipped free.

Along with a bucket load of ocean sludge.

"Ah, shit."

He slithered backwards, but not fast enough.

It was in his hair, up his nose. Blaaah! In his mouth!

Virgil Tracy ended up on his butt covered in goop.

"Holy crap, Virg. What the hell did you do?" Virgil was vaguely aware of his brother darting out of reach.

He shot a glare in Gordon's direction, but he had no doubt it had little effect since there was sludge dripping off his nose.

His brother spun in his 'chair, grabbed some moderately clean rags and a facecloth, before returning to Virgil and handing them to him.

"You do know that filter can be released externally."

Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as Gordon reached out and wiped the slime off Virgil's forehead.

"I do know that, Gordon, but our brother did bury Four completely. She is clogged from bow to stern."

Gordon sighed. "I know. She's brand new and full of mud."

"Hey, we'll clean her out. She'll be fine."

"We wouldn't have to clean her out if Scott had just listened to me." Oddly, Gordon continued to wipe Virgil's face.

A frown. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Gordon continued to clean the sludge off his cheek before starting on his mouth, muffling what the engineer had been about to say.

Virgil reached up and grabbed his brother's wrist, ignoring the sludge immediately deposited on his shirt. "Gordon, what is it?"

A blink of russet brown and Gordon sat back, his one good arm retreating back to his side.

Sludge dripped on his pants.

"It's cool." A waved hand and he was reversing the 'chair. "Thanks for all your hard work on Four. Sorry I haven't been able to help much."

Another frown and Virgil pushed himself up off the floor. God, this stuff stunk. It wasn't supposed to be exposed to air. He flung some off his hands.

And got some in his eye for his efforts.

Crap.

He blinked profusely. Another cloth was handed to him and he wiped that eye. "Thanks."

"How long do you think this will take?"

Virgil eyed his brother, but shrugged. "Got the bots doing what they can. I'm working on her vents. The engines themselves are good. It's mostly cosmetic. I just want to make sure she is as clean as possible before we start her up again. No need to risk further damage."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Gordon, what is it?"

The wince that resulted from an attempted shrug had Virgil taking a step closer to the hoverchair. he crouched down beside his brother. "Gordo?"

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

Those eyes darted in his direction, vulnerable for a split second before the facade of humour kicked in. "No, actually that is a combination of fish, crustacean, mollusc and likely whale shit."

Virgil pursed his lips. "Not working, Gords. Spill."

A smirk, fake as all hell. "Four already did and it is still dripping off your nose."

A moment of locked gazes and tense shoulders.

Virgil grabbed his brother and pulled him into a hug.

Gordon floundered for a second, a gasped out breath in Virgil's ear, his one free arm flung out and flapping. But as Virgil gently tightened his arms, his brother relaxed into his embrace.

"Virg-"

"It's okay, Gordon."

Something muttered softly.

The moment held, his brother's head on his shoulder.

Another moment...

"You stink."

"I know."

"Now I do, too."

"Do you care?"

"You'll have to help me get cleaned up."

"Eh, thunderbird, brother, same thing."

"You're a shit."

"Payback for the pranks."

"Mmm."

They were still holding each other.

"Sorry." It was muttered against his shoulder.

"Not a problem."

Gordon pulled away.

Virgil let him go.

And left a sludge print down the length of his brother and smudges all over the 'chair. Gordon eyed the mess and glared up at Virgil. "Thanks."

A shrug, a smirk, and the engineer nabbed another rag to wipe his hands. "You're welcome."

Gordon grabbed his shirt. "No, really, thanks." Honest russet bore into him. "For repairing Four, for cleaning her up, for everything, bro. I owe you big time."

Virgil looked down at the hand clutching his sodden shirt. "No, you don't. Part of the deal, Gordon." He ran the rag over his face again. "All you need to do is heal."

The hand fell away. His brother's expression was still occupied.

Virgil shifted where he stood. "Hey, let's get cleaned up and then how about I help you into the pool?"

That got a result, Gordon's head shooting up, his eyes wide. "Really?"

God, he was like the eager little kid Virgil used to take swimming on weekends.

A soft smile. "Really. As long as you take it easy and do as I say."

Gordon saluted immediately. "Yes, oh, mighty mud monster, sir."

Virgil rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin. "Go on, get moving."

Gordon spun on the spot and darted off.

Virgil let his grin spread wider as he moved to follow. Okay, he'd admit it. He'd do anything to see that smile in his brother's eyes.

Sludge be damned.

-o-o-o-


	23. wereVirgil scene

_This is totally_ _soniabigcheese_ _'s fault. This is a branch of her were!Virgil universe (a universe that seems to be growing by the minute). I couldn't help myself and threw in a little Virgil/Kayo (with Sonia's permission). So this is for_ _vegetacide_ _who I equally can't help taunting :D Thank you to both of you. I hope you enjoy it._

-o-o-o-

Tanusha Kyrano wasn't one for sitting on the beach, staring at the stars, but tonight called for it. The moon was a stunning white globe rising slowly over the murmuring ocean. The breeze was soft, but cool and it caused goosebumps on her bare shoulders.

The day had been a bad one. It had called for sacrifices she hadn't been willing to give. One leg throbbed angrily under its glowing white bandage and a good part of her discipline was deployed to ignore it.

Palm fronds whispered in conversation far above her head.

She didn't hear him. She never did, but she knew he was there. His presence detached from the deep dark of the landscape and moulded into his familiar great shape, the huge black wolf swaggering onto the beach beside her.

Nothing was said, but his eyes reflected the moon in all its brilliance, sparkling as he turned to gaze at her.

Her lips thinned and she turned back to the ocean. The sand was cold under her buttocks, the creeping absence of temperature leaching her body heat away.

She shivered.

He reacted immediately sidling over in a very uncanine-like manner until she was faced with a wall of thick black fur.

Despite herself, she leant into his warmth.

A huff of hot breath, a whine and he curled around her, resting his head on her shoulder.

She found her arms involuntarily returning the embrace, her fingers clutching thick coat. A scrunch of her eyes and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Another whine and a massive paw gently landed on her leg.

He knew what he was doing. Despite knowing that this great wolf was her husband, there was some primal incongruity, some inability to see beyond what she saw that allowed her to express to him in this form what she could never were he holding her in his human skin.

A fist full of fur. A heart full of ache. His breath rippling her hair.

A soft whine of a query, deep in his throat.

"It shouldn't have happened. I had that line secured. I triple checked it." She refused to acknowledge the breathlessness of her voice, the weakness it illustrated. "She shouldn't have fallen."

An equally soft growl.

She answered it with a sob that surprised him as much as it did her.

He moved. His great head lifting and turning until his eyes, barely more than glints in the darkness, caught hers.

His image blurred and she scorned herself.

A soft nudge at her cheek as his muzzle brushed away a stray tear.

"Tanusha." Her name formed by a larynx morphed by the lunar cycle was deeper and rougher than she was used to, but it was still beautiful.

Her hand reached up and brushed the shorter hairs of his face, the bright light of the moon sketching out his darkness in shades of midnight and the long-forgotten dusk. But it all came back to those eyes, barely visible, yet so Virgil, so strong, so loving, no matter their form.

Another soft whine and he nuzzled her cheek again.

She closed her eyes and just felt his warmth.

"Love you, Tanusha." Hot breath against her ear.

She drew him in close and buried herself in his fur, his comfort and his love.

-o-o-o-


	24. A Single Flower

_I feel this doesn't go anywhere properly, and I should probably write more, but I've run completely out of time and have to dash to work._

 _Virgil/Kayo, for_ _vegetacide_ _and you may need a tissue for this. Fluffember prompt - flower, but it is not fluffy._

 _Sorry I couldn't write more ::hugs::_

-o-o-o-

It was a ritual.

No matter the state of his life at the time, no matter the shit pile of rescues he was buried under, he made the time.

Well, not to the point of risking lives, but there had to be a time for her.

His brothers knew it, his grandmother knew it, Kayo knew it and it was respected every year. It was his way of coping.

But not this time.

This time he had taken a fall.

This time he should be in a damned hospital, not honouring the dead.

But it had been a lone rescue and a bad one. He had pulled himself off the side of the mountain along with the remaining rescuees. John had pleaded with him when he delivered them to the hospital, but she suspected that he knew that once confined by medical walls, he wouldn't be going anywhere soon.

So he had left.

Scott was tangled up with the GDF on the other side of the planet with two other rescuees in the balance, so it was left to her to chase him up and catch him before he killed himself with skewed priorities.

Thunderbird Two had her own parking space at the cemetery. Virgil had purchased the land himself adjacent to the property. It was a far field in Job Jensen's back lot and the family friend had been happy to help. It may have had something to do with the fact that Scott had saved his son once, but either way, Virgil needed the land and paid the man handsomely for it just so he could park his 'bird there when he needed to.

Of course, there was security involved. Kayo had seen to that herself and each of the brothers used the spot as needed.

But most of all Virgil.

Today was no different. The dawn sky was overcast and grey in appropriate sympathy. This time of the year left the weather prone to that skyscape and as she dipped below the cloud cover, memories surfaced at the sight of the Tracy's hometown.

Shadow was silent as she landed beside her massive sister, claws denting the worn grass that same farmer kept manicured. Two's rear thrusters were still steaming in the morning chill, curls of lost heat wafting up into the sky.

Kayo leapt out of her 'bird quietly. She knew where she would find him, she was just unsure what his state would be.

"John, vitals?"

Her tired brother responded immediately. "Strong, but he is losing blood." A pause. "I can see him, but he is not moving."

For the love of…she quickened her pace, jumping the fence and darting between the rows of headstones.

Lucille Tracy was buried in a quiet corner of the graveyard. The rise of the Tracy name had led to the sad need for security around her grave, so a fence had been erected. The one time a vandal had damaged the site, Kayo had hunted him down herself, furious in her own right, but devastated at how it affected her brothers.

Now the site was secure and monitored…and just that little more heartbreaking.

She found him. He was on his knees, still in uniform, hunched over at the foot of his mother's grave, head bowed and hidden, a single flower in his hands.

The grief in his form simply broke her heart.

But it was the tear in his sleeve and the bleeding gash scoring his bicep that propelled her forward to interrupt his privacy.

"Virgil?" Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He looked up and her heart shattered into pieces. A gash above his right eye bled sluggishly, blood mixing with the tears staining his face. Red brown eyes stared up at her in pain.

"Kay?"

"Love…" She stepped in close crouched down beside him, her hands automatically reaching out to touch him, to reassure herself as well as give him what comfort she could. "What are you doing?"

"Visiting Mom."

"But you are injured. Your mother would be horrified." She ran her fingers through the hair at his temple and he leant into her touch.

"I lost one."

Her blood chilled.

"Mountain took her, just like Mom." He drew in a breath and wiped a hand across his face. Blood smeared everywhere. "Wasn't fast enough."

Today of all days.

She reached up and gently drew him into her arms. He came willingly, his dirty hair stiff against her skin.

"I'm sorry, love."

"I tried. I tried so hard."

That explained the fall, the injuries, the everything. She drew him in gently, but hugged him tightly, her own throat caught up in emotion.

"Not your fault."

He didn't answer, but his shoulders shook silently.

So she just held him.

The single flower in his hand crumpled against her flightsuit.

-o-o-o-


	25. Leaf on the Wind

_This is all godsliltippy 's fault. She put the image in my head and I had to get it out and share the pain._

 ** _This is not pretty. All the warnings here, folks. Language and a brother who probably won't make it._** _::stands next to godsliltippy wearing a T-Shirt that clearly points an arrow in her direction with the words 'Her Fault' printed beneath it:: She did it. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH._

 _I will never forgive Joss Whedon ever for that scene. Ever! Nutty's a sensitive wuss and god, that hurt. So does this fic scene, be warned._

 _Also, I have no plans to take it any further cos I don't want to rake my soul over the coals._

-o-o-o-

Orange sparks rained down and lit up the darkness. He blinked and the orange became green on the back of his eyelids.

What?

Something was hissing. Something was sparking, no doubt the source of the orange flares still dancing across the dark.

Virgil blinked again.

Smoke got in his eyes and up his nose.

His 'bird was burning.

It all came back in a rush. Missile!

He sat up. His body folded with a panicked screech of pain and he gasped out a scream. He curled up, almost falling back onto the buckled deck plating.

God. Oh, god.

"Virgil?"

His name danced out of the darkness between sparks.

Gordon.

His brother had been with him. His brother had been flying his 'bird while Virgil attended to their rescuee in the medbay. Comms, he'd called on comms. There was a missile.

Virgil forced himself to roll onto all fours only to land flat on his face, his entire body screaming at him for the attempt.

His breath blew dust off the desk plates and he sneezed.

His world was only agony for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Virgil?" It was weak and desperate and so much like the little boy who used to called to him in the night terrified by a nightmare. "Virg…"

He forced his eyes open.

Electricity arced and for a moment, the remains of his beloved cockpit lit up in a stark shadows.

Virgil was at the back. He had been running for his pilot's seat, but his 'bird lost her fight with the sky and he had been thrown into the rear bulkhead.

Gordon had been flying.

His little brother had been flying.

He reached out a hand and began dragging himself forward. "Gordon?" His voice was barely there. "Gordon!"

A cough and a groan. "Virgil?"

It was so dark.

Inch by painful inch, he dragged himself in the direction of where he knew Gordon had been sitting.

"You okay?" Another cough bounced around the shadows.

"Been better." His throat was so dry it ached. Something was wrong with his right leg and his back, god, his back.

Sparks lit up the co-pilot's chair. It was much further back than it should have been and canted at an angle.

Virgil's gloved fingers brushed it and he dragged himself closer. "Status?"

"Um…been better."

"Thunderbird Two, do you copy?! Eos, have we cleared the jamming? Virgil! Gordon!"

The wreckage lit up as Virgil's wristcomm burst into life, a worried John flashing into existence.

Wreckage.

It was wreckage.

And it was wrapped around his little brother.

Virgil froze, the sight derailing his pain-filled brain. "Gordon?"

"Virgil! Gordon! Respond!" John was loud. A bloodstained glove reached out of the wreckage and an IR comm lit up. "John…"

"Gordon! Status!"

"Been better…" But it was little more than an exhaled gasp. Virgil's eyes sketched out the the mangled remains of the dash, the green of bent and broken Thunderbird, his brother lying as if cocooned in the metal. The co-pilot's seat was broken in half. Shattered plexiglass from the forward windows lay scattered like sparkling snow.

The deep night outside leaked in as a cold wind, sucking heat.

"Gordon?" The question was forced from him and his brother's shadowed eyes turned to him as John continued to demand a report.

"I crashed your 'bird." A pause as he closed his eyes and swallowed. "Sorry."

"Gordon!"

His brother coughed and darkness splattered against the inside of his helmet. "Gordon!" Virgil pulled himself forward, his whole body screaming. "Gordon! John! Need assistance! Now!"

"Virgil! Scott's on his way!"

Gordon snorted wetly, but smiled anyway. "Scotty's gonna be pissed. I trashed another 'bird."

"Not your fault."

A blue and yellow hand reached out and grabbed Virgil's arm. "Tell him I'm sorry. Not his fault, not your fault, my choice." And Gordon coughed again, his eyes closing in pain.

"Gordon, don't you dare!" Virgil dragged himself the last few inches and reached up to his shoulder mounted light, hitting it into life. It sputtered, came on at half strength, giving just enough light to outline the three inch thick green slice of fuselage impaling Gordon just below his ribcage and nailing him to his chair.

"Oh god, Gordon."

"Heh, she never did like me flying her. Got me back in the end."

"No, no…" First aid, had to stop the bleeding. But his heart was breaking. He had enough experience to know. Had seen enough, calculated enough, knew who could be saved and who couldn't.

First aid, need to start first aid.

Gordon laughed. It was a hysterical sound. "'I'm a leaf on the wind.' Remember that show. So cool."

"Fuck that."

But Gordon's eyes quietly closed, the smile falling slack on his face.

"Gordon, don't you dare! You hear me! Don't you dare!"

There was a roar of rocket engines and the darkness outside was shoved away by flaming exhaust.

Virgil grabbed his brother's hand as it slipped from his arm. "Gordon! Please don't."

God, please no.

No.

-o-o-o-


	26. You Can't Do that!

_Just a scene. Science!Gordon from We'll Be Home For Christmas saw the ep today and had a fit in my head and had to be heard._

 _ **SPOILERS FOR 3.21.**_

 _Now I just have to write a little scene for the Virg, cos yeah, that thing that happened to him needs a little Nutty attention ::cackles::_

-o-o-o-

"You're kidding me."

"N-no, I'm n-not." Brains was obviously clueless.

"You can't do that."

"I'm afraid we have to, Gordon." Scott's blue eyes flashed at him, that furious determination, now bordering on obsession.

The aquanaut stared at his brother and their friend. "Do it in space."

"N-not possible. I-I'm s-sorry, G-Gordon."

"Why not? Everything is dead in space. Why do you have to do it on the ocean?!" Already his mind was calculating the species that would be endangered by the testing if something went wrong. Not to mention the immediate geological effects.

"There is a n-need for atmospheric pressure."

"Then put it in a space capsule. It's going to be in one eventually anyway. Why risk lives?"

"What lives?"

Gordon stared at Scott. "I'm going to act like I didn't hear that." Or it might get physical. He reined himself in. He was used to the lack of understanding his eldest brother had regarding Gordon's love for all things ocean, but this was beyond it.

"No, you can't do this. We are in an environmentally fragile area. You know that. Dad knew that. We have a responsi-"

Scott erupted. "We are doing this! We have to. Dad is relying on us!"

"Hey! I understand that, but you are risking too much!"

"It is the only way!"

"How do you know that?!"

"We don't have time! Dad could be dying!"

The room fell silent.

Fury boiled in his bones. "You would risk all those lives for the chance of one?"

"He's our father!"

"He matters, yes, but are you going to put his life above the thousands in the blast area?"

"Gordon-"

"I thought you cared for all life, Scott. 'Everyone is worth saving'? Is species a requirement?"

"Gordon, we can't-"

Gordon shoved himself in his brother's face, his finger gesticulating millimetres from his nose. "Yes, you can! We are International Rescue, we save, WE DO NOT KILL!"

"FINE! Then what the hell do we do? Leave Dad out there?"

The aquanaut turned to Brains. "What are the chances of a major explosion?"

Brains looked extremely uncomfortable and obviously would have preferred to be anywhere but in the middle of a Tracy brother showdown. "It is always a p-possibility." But Gordon could see it in the man's face. There was no doubt. This was testing. He had no way of guaranteeing any positive result and the possibility of a negative was all too likely.

"Don't do it."

"I-I'm sorry, G-Gordon." Brains straightened up and set his shoulders. "It is the only way."

Gordon stared at him and then back at his eldest brother.

The blue eyes glaring back at him were cold.

"So much for Tracy honour." The words were spat in his brother's face and Gordon spun on his heels and stormed out. Hell, how was he going to evacuate several square kilometres of open ocean? Deterrent harmonics. Virgil was going to love that. Force fields? Could they cover that much area?

The list of possibilities, details of migration routes, the disruptions this would cause, the loss of ocean flora…hell, they were only miles from a major ocean sanctuary…as his hand hit the glass of the aquarium the world blurred in front of him and he had to blink madly.

The elevator dropped, the spinners deposited his uniform, and he had to blink again.

It was betrayal. Betrayal in everything he believed. A sacrifice for a need that he and his brothers had, that would take innocent lives. He wanted to save his Dad. God, did he. He ached for his father, dreaded to find they were too late. He understood the urgency.

But.

His elevator slowed to its stop at the bottom of the shaft and Gordon wilted just a little for just a moment, his gloved hand reaching to lean on the wall.

It hurt.

God, it hurt.

To see the disregard, the obsession in his brother's eyes and he wondered just how far Scott would go, how far over the line he would step to reach his goal.

Because he had just taken the first step,

-o-o-o-


	27. No!

"NO!"

But there was nothing he could do about it as the building trembled, its supports unable to compensate, and it came down.

Virgil, helmeted and kitted out in his exo-suit withstood the shockwave and the cloud of concrete dust, but his brothers didn't.

No, his brothers were underneath all that still settling rubble, caught trying to rescue a family from the parking garage beneath.

No, no, no, no, no, nooooooooooooo!

John on comms screaming at him. One and Two covered in dust in the distance.

This wasn't supposed to be happening.

He moved.

The exo-suit was his. It was made for him. Only for him. It was an extension of his natural abilities. It gave him strength to do what needed to be done.

And it was done.

John was still yelling at him, but Virgil only registered two words in five. Location of his brothers. Condition of his brothers.

His brothers.

Concrete flew. The grate of phantom dust between his teeth.

"Scott? Gordon? Alan? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

"Virgil!"

Tonnes and tonnes of crumbled concrete before he found anything.

A limp hand.

Not a brother. Not a brother.

Emergency personnel swarmed around him and the woman, dead or alive was taken away.

"Virgil!"

More concrete and steel. His brothers.

He kept digging.

"Virgil!"

"John, I have to find them!" Have to…have to…

Someone grabbed him.

"No, I have to find them!" He shoved the hands away, but the concrete beneath his feet began to give way. "Scott?! Gordon?! Allie!"

He was falling.

"No! Nonononononononoooo!"

"VIRGIL!"

Those hands caught him again and he startled to find himself on the floor.

A cold floor.

Dim lighting.

The worried turquoise eyes of his middle brother as he held him in his lap.

His lap?

His brain stumbled and he realised he was on a hospital floor in a room full of beds.

"Virgil? You okay?" Allie?

A blink and he found his little brother looking over the edge of the closest bed, eyes as worried as John's.

"Ummm…"

"You were dreaming." John's melodious voice was soft and reassuring. "You fell off the chair."

"Scott? Gordon?"

"They are all safe. You got them out. A few broken bones, but they're going to be fine."

His heart was pounding so hard.

On the floor.

In his little brother's lap.

Terror slipped into embarrassment.

Shit.

"Hey." John's voice was still soft. "You're okay."

No, he wasn't.

He tried to get up, but John held him a moment longer and whispered in his ear. "They are going to be okay." A gentle squeeze that had Virgil frowning, and his brother let him go.

Virgil stumbled to his feet to find both Gordon and Scott patched and bandaged, still asleep and little Allie staring up at him with wide eyes, a leg in plaster. Wavering, he made it back to the plastic chair he had apparently fallen from as John unfolded from the floor.

Alan grabbed Virgil's arm. "Are you okay?"

A shift of his shoulders. "Yeah. Don't worry, Allie. It was just a dream."

John's eyes caught his.

"Just a dream."

-o-o-o-


	28. Magic

**_aeipathy_** (n.) - an enduring and consuming passion

Music for Virgil was magic.

No other interest, not even his painting or his love affair with Thunderbird Two could give voice to his feelings as much as his connection with his piano. He could lose himself in its notes. Time stopped and he could exist outside of reality, suspended by sound and emotion.

Often, he reached for it when things were bad. Everyone in the house knew when Virgil was hurting. The music would tell them. The only times it could be worse, was when the music stopped.

If it was physical injury, it was likely frustration and their brother would become a bear. He was a gentle soul, but artistic frustration was his kryptonite and the whole house suffered.

If it was emotional injury, the whole house would hurt beside him. There would be attempts to draw him out, quiet words.

Sometimes tears.

But if the Tracys were anything, they were tight knit, supportive and a very strong family. It would be worked through. It would be tackled and whatever was necessary would be done. And eventually, each and every member of that family would breath a sigh of relief as the first notes of their musical brother at the piano wafted through the house.

But music wasn't only for mourning and sadness. Music covered the entire spectrum.

Virgil played when he was happy, too. Bright, uplifting music for Christmases and birthdays. Special pieces for special people. He played one of his best compositions ever at his brother's wedding.

Penelope actually cried on the dance floor and Gordon nearly killed him. He thought his brother had broken his brand new wife.

But Penelope had discovered that there was one thing in the universe that could crack her shell of defence, and that was her brand new husband. Virgil just supplied the last emotional straw.

Gordon paid him back later with a massive hug that strained even the heavy lifter's bone structure.

Plus, the aquanaut stole a recording of the piece and released it world-wide to standing ovations. Virgil became famous, well, more famous, overnight. Gordon hid on his honeymoon and the bear lost its target. When Virgil realised Gordon had released it for charity – the supreme barrier reef, no less – the engineer was a little more mollified. But it was safe to say that Gordon and Penelope's honeymoon was an extended distance and time away from the second eldest for a reason.

Penelope just laughed her musical laugh and petted her new brother-in-law on the arm.

With the return of their father, the music changed. It faltered for a while, unable to find its place, unsure if it was welcome due to memory and time. But the ill man caught Virgil playing late one night when the engineer didn't know his father was on the Island. Between three rescues and exhaustion, he had missed the sleeping man and had thought himself free to play.

And play he did.

Jeff was drawn to the piano like a moth to a flame. He hid in the shadows, watching his son, watching his expression, the exhaustion on his face…

The elation at emotional release.

And he had seen it before.

On softer but similar features.

Ever so loved.

At the same piano.

He watched until the music finished and his son folded over the keys, head in his hands. Only then did the older man emerge from his hiding place and move towards his son.

His faltering footsteps were heard and that dark head shot up. The worry on Virgil's face, pushed away the exhaustion.

Jeff waved his hand away as the young man immediately rose to help him. Jeff made it to his desk and sat down, his eyes on the musician. "That was a beautiful piece, Virgil."

Virgil looked down at the piano a moment before brushing his fingers gently across the keys. "It's nothing, just playing."

"You do your mother proud."

Those brown eyes shot up and Virgil's mouth opened as if to say something, but closed again.

So Jeff added more. "She would love the man you have become." A pause. "As do I."

His son just stared, shock his most prominent emotion.

Jeff knew he was to blame. He had never been one to express himself emotionally when the boys were growing up. But eight years in nowhere changes everything.

Virgil stared for a moment longer before managing to find his broken voice. "Thank you, Dad."

Jeff didn't miss the extra blinks as if his son had dust in his eyes.

Quietly. "Play me something, son."

Those blinks increased for just a moment longer before Virgil nodded and turned back to the piano.

Lucy's favourite song wafted up softly from the keys.

And it was Jeff's turn to blink rapidly.

So yes, Virgil found magic in his music, and sometimes his family did too.

It was his goto, his reassurance, his passion. He played for himself, he played for those he loved and he played because he had to. It was part of him.

And while his brothers teased and cajoled, they would not have it any other way. The sound of those fingers on piano keys meant more to them than Virgil would ever know.

Because the music was magic.

And their brother was home.

-o-o-o-

FIN.


	29. What hurt more

He didn't know what hurt more.

His heart, or the look of horror on his brother's face.

Virgil wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and wasn't surprised when it came back wet.

A hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder and he was drawn in, desperately, roughly, enveloped in arms as strong as his own.

"God, Virg, it's okay."

He drew in a ragged breath and tried to straighten himself out. Exposing this hadn't been the plan. This was supposed to be a private place, he hadn't expected anyone to find him here. This was where he let it go so no one knew.

But now someone did.

Shit.

He would have sworn, but his barriers were low and the frustration just generated more anguish.

For Christ sake, just pull it together. It was just another day. Just another shit day. Just more lives lost. Just more kids.

The images rose up and ate him alive.

And he found himself just sobbing more.

Damn, damn, damn, damn!

"Virgil, it's okay. Honestly, its okay." There were tears in that voice. Tears put there by him.

Hell.

He tried to pull away, but those arms held him tight. He could push it, but he had done so much damage already.

"I'm not a kid anymore. I've been there." A rough swallow. "To be honest, I didn't know how you guys did it. I thought I was the only one."

Alcohol and crying in hidden corners.

He did pull away then, the role of big brother finally pulling him into line. "I'm sorry, Alan."

His littlest brother looked up at him, eyes as red rimmed as his felt. "It's cool, Virg, really."

"It's cool."

-o-o-o-


	30. You're doing it again

John wasn't one to admit to nervousness, but he did have to acknowledge it in himself.

Eos was apparently one to detect nervousness because she started giggling. "Eos?"

"You're doing it again."

He frowned. "Doing what?"

"Wriggling your fingers."

He stared up at her camera. "What?"

"I have observed that when you are stressed you move your fingers rhythmically, in a wave formation."

He looked down at his hands, which, of course, were doing nothing.

"Virgil says it is a nervous habit."

"Virgil? Why did you ask him?"

The gravity ring continued its spin as he waited for her answer.

He waited a while. "Eos?"

"It was during the development of the the Zero XL. You were under stress and I didn't want to bother you. I was concerned and I thought a medical opinion from someone who is familiar with you would help. It did."

"What did Virgil say?"

"He said not to worry. That you had always done it and it was likely a mild stim action."

He stared at her camera for another full second. "He did, did he?"

"Is that incorrect?"

"Well, no."

"Should I have asked you instead?"

He stopped to think for a moment. "I would prefer that you speak to me if you have any concerns, but if I am unavailable, yes, you can speak to my brothers." It was admittedly unnerving, but she did at least have the right to ask. What his brothers told her…well, that was up for discussion.

"Virgil also said you should use those long fingers for the piano."

"Virgil says a lot of things."

"He does. He also wants you to sing at Christmas."

"I'm not singing at Christmas."

"He said it is special this year with your father now home."

John grunted. Every year Virgil badgered him about singing. The musician considered it a travesty that John didn't use his apparently beautiful voice for something other than answering comms. "I'll think about it." It wasn't the singing, it was the performing.

But Dad…

"Elevator on approach."

Another frown. "That was quick."

"Virgil also says that a distraction can often help."

He was going to have some serious words with Virgil.

"Bring the ring to a halt and start docking procedures."

"Yes, John."

The ring slowed as he made his way to the docking port. Through the glass, he could see the tether retracting.

He realised he was wriggling his fingers.

Ah, damn it. He was going to throttle Virgil.

Holding himself still, he waited until the elevator came into view and finally slid to a smooth stop, docking with the smallest of clunks. Eos had made such an improvement in the elevator's operation. Her ability to control the unit's speed and braking made for a much smoother and carefree ride.

An air pressure check and equalisation, and the airlock slid open.

He shoved his nervousness aside and straightened as much as he could in zero gravity.

The smile of his face was genuine, though, as his guest floated through the airlock.

"Hey, Dad. Welcome aboard Thunderbird Five."

-o-o-o-


	31. Brontide

**_brontide_** (n.) - the low rumble of distant thunder

The air tastes like heat. It parches her tongue as she crouches in the dust.

The call has gone out and all she can do now is wait with the bundle of blankets in her arms.

Her son's features are lax, his skin soft and pale in the evening light, but he is breathing. Thank god, he is breathing.

In the distance there is a low rumble of thunder. It echoes across the horizon like a trampling stampede.

She is forced to look up, but the sky is clear above the dry eucalypts. The air frozen by drought and the heat of the dying day. Rain would be welcome. It always is.

The rumble doesn't dissipate.

Instead it gains intensity and before she can register the reason why, a great green behemoth of a plane swoops into a hover above her homestead.

Oh my god.

Even she, out in the arid outback, miles from anywhere, knows of the Thunderbirds.

She clutches her son to her chest as the jets holding the craft aloft toss up red dust. It tastes dry at the back of her throat.

A blink and the plane is down. A moment and a man in green and blue is running to her, a stretcher hovering behind him.

Kind words in a deep voice as her little boy is lifted gently from her arms. Deft hands, medical hands, dart over her son. A scanner appears. More words. Reassuring words.

And they are moving.

The sun is blotted out by the massive machine as she follows the man. The shade is cooling. A gloved hand gently takes her arm and leads her onto a green hatchway.

The plane swallows her whole.

Her little boy is strapped in safe.

The seats are red. All that green and the seats are red. The same colour as the stains on her dress.

The sob clogs her throat, but the sound escapes and she is suddenly his sole attention.

His eyes are a warm, warm brown and ever so kind. More words in that deep voice, so soft. Those gloved hands fasten her seatbelt. A hand on her shoulder and she is reassuring him she is okay. She can manage. She holds herself together enough for him to leave her to go to his seat.

The controls on the dash are so many, yet the man plays them like a musical instrument and the great plane roars around her, vibrating beneath her backside and up her spine.

Dust swirls in red clouds and then there is only the blue of the sky.

The briefest of verbal warnings and she is pushed back in her seat, the sheer force of the speed he is achieving moulds her into the red upholstery.

The Thunderbird roars.

The air is vibrating.

The pilot speaks over his radio and Sydney answers. They are banking to the right in a steep enough descent she can see the bridge arching up over the harbour. So fast. Over a thousand kilometres in bare minutes. The thought sticks in her stumbling thought processes.

Her stomach drops as they fall out of the sky.

Time accordions and the plane strikes a hover before lowering softly to the ground. Touchdown is smooth despite the clanking of machinery and the hiss of cooling jets.

The silence is broken by gentle words and those brown eyes are all concern and urgency. He helps her out of her seat.

Her little boy's stretcher undocks from the wall and they return to the hatch. It lowers onto scorched grass.

The smell of burnt greenery.

An arm around her shoulders and he leads her from the hatchway towards a flock of running medical staff.

Her little boy.

Her little boy.

A rush of medical words.

White replaces the blue and the green and suddenly he is gone. She and her son are being ushered towards the maw of the hospital.

Medical words. So many medical words.

She turns to look back and sees him striding back to his Thunderbird.

Steam is rising from its massive engines.

Moments later she hears the rumble of thunder. It echoes amongst the buildings, seeping through the windows and under the doors.

She can no longer see it, but she hears it, rising far above the hospital.

A roar and it fades into the distance.

-o-o-o-


	32. Keys

_Slapped together at work, and proof I've probably lost it more than usual._

-o-o-o-

Piano keys were his defence.

He came home with memories he could not handle. Thoughts and emotions that were just too much.

His heart led him to save people. But saving those people broke him.

Each time he went out he had to be prepared to see and experience things that he wasn't built to process. Horrors that scarred his mind and tore his soul.

The piano was his saviour.

Gloves cast aside, he would sit covered in grime, desperate to shed what had happened, to repair the unrepairable.

The notes his fingers found were sometimes sour, sometimes dark. The comms room echoed with screams, ran with blood and cried so many tears.

Often his brothers would join him, often fighting their own demons. Scott desperate to help, to ease his pain, to ease his own. A shoulder if it all became too much.

John occasionally would be there to meet him, having watched everything unfold, knowing his brother was hurting. His care was quiet, loving and gentle, felt from afar even if he wasn't there.

Gordon was a bright spark that would bounce into the room and literally light everything on fire. Where John was quiet, Gordon was loud...and much younger. Virgil's resources had to be very poor for him to let go in front of his younger two brothers. Gordon at least was the older of the two, and often Virgil had no choice as the man would poke him until he exploded all over the room.

Alan would sit. He understood the age gap issue. He had it with all his brothers and he knew Virgil couldn't express himself fully, bar smashing piano keys in the disguise of composition. So he would sit quietly and just listen. Let his brother know that at least he could hear what Virgil had to say through his fingers. Be there so Virgil knew he was being heard.

Virgil was the only one who could play the piano. All four of his brothers had learnt, but let the knowledge slip away in preference to more exciting things. Virgil clung to it like a buoy in a storm. Their lives were often chaos, and that piano his saviour. So, in turn, he became the provider of release as well. Where he wasn't the one in pain, he could coax it out of another brother with the right keys.

The day Scott broke down and sobbed on his shoulder hurt as much, if not more, than if he had been the one who had lost the school bus full of children.

John had to be coaxed and occasionally kicked out of his 'bird by his daughter. The right music became the order, the command, the wish, the promise, the knowledge that his brother was waiting for him.

Gordon didn't cry, he exploded. It took a lot to break through the aquanaut's shell, but Virgil had the keys to his heart and he was strong enough to catch him when he broke.

Alan was soft music, not unlike the stars that drew him into the sky. Subtle background noise that eroded at his defences until he would turn and seek his big brothers.

The piano keys were Virgil's defence, for both himself and his brothers. While they could play happy moments, mild moments, and moving moments, it was for the desperate moments that they were needed the most. And his brothers understood it well.

The worst was when the keys fell silent. When Virgil was too injured or too absent to play. Then the family floundered. Recordings were found and lamented. Anger existed in the roving bear of Virgil himself, longing for the keys, but denied the release.

It was usually Scott, occasionally Grandma, who cornered the desperate musician and talked him down from his virtual ledge. Calmed him, held him, reassured both him and themselves that the music would return.

It had to.

That the time of silence would end.

Visitors to the Island, the few there were, would encounter the piano music almost as a background to the wind, sea and birds and wonder why. When asked, Virgil would declare it a hobby, an amusement to pass the time between rescues.

None would know its power.

The power of the keys.

-o-o-o-


End file.
